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BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 




Plate I 



Williamson's Sapsucker — Sphyrapicus thyroidem 

(Figure on left, male; on right, female) 



BIRDS of the ROCKIES 

By LEANDER S. KEYSER 

AUTHOR OF ff I N BIRD LAND," ETC. 

With Eight Full-page Plates (four in color) 
by Louis Agassiz Fuertes ; Many Illustra- 
tions in the Text by Bruce Horsfall, and 
Eight Views of Localities front Photographs 



WITH A COMPLETE CHECK- 
LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 




1 . ■> 



CHICAGO • A. C. McCLURG AND CO. 
NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

T>vo Copied Recsiveo 

OCT, 3 H90? 

OnPVRKlHT ENTBV 

CLASS Ct XXc. No. 

V 2L Oj 5 3 
COPY B. 



Copyright 
A. C. McClurg & Co. 

1902 



Published September 27, 1902 






n> 



i 

V5 



* d 



TO 
KATHERINE 

AND 

THE BOYS 

IN MEMORY OF MANY HAPPY DAYS 
BOTH INDOORS AND OUT 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Up and Down the Heights 19 

Introduction to Some Species 31 

Bald Peaks and Green Vales 47 

Birds of the Arid Plain 83 

A Pretty • Hummer 103 

Over the Divide and Back 117 

A Rocky Mountain Lake 139 

A Bird Miscellany 149 

Plains and Foothills . , 177 

Rambles about Georgetown 197 

Ho ! for Gray's Peak ! 223 

Pleasant Outings 259 

A Notable Quartette 285 

Check-List of Colorado Birds ....... 307 

Index 349 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



FULL-PAGE PLATES 

PLATE FACING TAGE 

v I. Williamson's Sapsucker — Sphyrapicus thy- 

roideus Frontispiece 

II. Green-tailed Towhee — Pipilo chlorurus ; 



Spurred Towhee — Pipilo megalonyx . 47 / 

x III. Lazuli Bunting — Cyanospiza amaena ... 83 

IV. Lark Bunting — Calamospiza melanocorys . . 139 

J V. Louisiana Tanager — Pyranga ludoviciana . . 177 

VI. Townsend's Solitaire — Myiadestes townsendii 223 

* VII. Ruddy Duck — Erismaiura rubida .... 259 

VIII. Brown-capped Leucosticte — Leucosticte aus- 

tralis 303 

SCENIC AND TEXT ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

White-Crowned Sparrows ( u Their grass-lined nests 

by the babbling mountain brook " ) 21 

Turtle Doves ( " Darting across the turbulent 

stream") 44 

Pipits (" Te-cheer ! te-cheer ! ") 50 



viii ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Pipits (" Up over the Bottomless Pit") 51 

White-Crowned Sparrow ("Dear Whittier") . . 55 
Ruby-Crowned Kinglet ("The singer elevated his 

crest feathers ") 65 

Desert Horned Larks (" They were plentiful in this 

parched region ") 84 

Horned Lark ("It was a dear little thing") ... 88 
Coyote (" Looking back to see whether he were 

being pursued ") 100 

One of the Seven Lakes 105 

Summit of Pike's Peak Ill 

"Pike's Peak in cloudland " 114 

Cliff-Swallows ("On the rugged face of a cliff") . 118 

Royal Gorge 123 

Pine Siskins 128 

Willow Thrush 136 

Brewer's Blackbirds (" An interesting place for bird 

study") 139 

Yellow-Headed Blackbirds (" There the youngsters 

perched ") 142 

"From their place among the reeds" .... 146 
The Rocky Mountain Jay (" Seeking a covert in the 

dense pineries when a storm sweeps down from 

the mountains ") 152 

Rainbow Falls 165 



ILLUSTRATIONS ix 

PAGE 

Water-Ousel (" Up, up, only a few inches from the 

dashing current ") 167 

Water-Ousel ("Three hungry mouths which were 

opened wide to receive the food ") . . . . . 171 

" no snowstorm can discourage him " . . . . 174 

"The dark doorway" 179 

Song Sparrow (" His songs are bubbling over still 

with melody and glee ") 194 

Clear Creek Valley 201 

Western Robin (" Out-pouring joy ") 207 

Red-Naped Sapsuckers (" Chiselling grubs out of 

the bark") 211 

Pigeon Hawk (" Watching for quarry ") . . . . 214 

" Solo singing in the thrush realm " 218 

Gray's and Torrey's Peaks 245 

Panorama from Gray's Peak — Northwest . . . 249 

Thistle Butterfly 252 

Western White 252 

Junco (" Under a roof of green grass ") ..... 255 

South Park from Kenosha Hill 265 

Magpie and Western Robins (" They were hot on 

his trail") 271 

Violet-green Swallow (" Squatted on the dusty road 

and took a sun-bath ") 279 



What bird is that ? Its song is good,' 

And eager eyes 
Go peering through the dusky wood 

In glad surprise ; 
Then late at night when by his fire 

The traveller sits, 
Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, 

The sweet song flits 
By snatches through his weary brain 

To help him rest. " 

Helex Hunt Jacksox : The Way to Sing. 



BRIEF FOREWORD 

WITH sincere pleasure the author would ac- 
knowledge the uniform courtesy of editors 
and publishers in permitting him to reprint 
manv of the articles comprised in this volume, from 
the various periodicals in which they first appeared. 

He also desires to express his special indebtedness to 
Mr. Charles E. Aiken, of Colorado Springs, Colorado, 
whose contributions to the ornithology of the West 
have been of great scientific value, and to whose large 
and varied collection of bird-skins the author had fre- 
quent access for the purpose of settling difficult points 
in bird identification. This obliging gentleman also 
spent many hours in conversation with the writer, 
answering his numerous questions with the intelligence 
of the scientifically trained observer. Lastly, he kindly 
corrected some errors into which the author had inad- 
vertently fallen. 

While the area covered by the writer's personal ob- 
servations may be somewhat restricted, yet the scientific 
bird-list at the close of the volume widens the field so 
as to include the entire avi-fauna of Colorado so far as 



xiv BRIEF FOREWORD 

known to systematic students. Besides, constant com- 
parison has been made between the birds of the West 
and the allied species and genera of our Central and 
Eastern States. For this reason the range of the vol- 
ume really extends from the Atlantic seaboard to the 
parks, valleys, and plateaus beyond the Continental 
Divide. 

L.S. K. 



All are needed by each one ; 

Nothing is fair or good alone. 

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, 

Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; 

I brought him home, in his nest, at even ; 

He sings the song, but it cheers not now, 

For I did not bring home the river and sky ; — 

He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. 

Ralph Waldo Emersost : Each and AIL 

Not from his fellows only man may learn 

Rights to compare and duties to discern ; 

All creatures and all objects, in degree, 

Are friends and patrons of humanity. 

There are to whom the garden, grove, and field 

Perpetual lessons of forbearance yield ; 

Who would not lightly violate the grace 

The lowliest flower possesses in its place ; 

Nor shorten the sweet life, too fugitive, 

Which nothing less than infinite Power could give. 

William Wordsworth : Humanity. 

Sounds drop in visiting from everywhere — 
The bluebird's and the robin's trill are there, 
Their sweet liquidity diluted some 
By dewy orchard spaces they have come. 

Ja.mes Whitcomb Riley : A Child World. 



Even in the city, I 
Am ever conscious of the sky ; 
A portion of its frame no less 
Than in the open wilderness. 
The stars are in my heart by night, 
I sing beneath the opening light, 
As envious of the bird ; I live 
Upon the payment, yet I give 
My soul to every growing tree 
That in the narrow ways I see. 
My heart is in the blade of grass 
Within the courtyard where I pass ; 
And the small, half-discovered cloud 
Compels me till I cry aloud. 
I am the wind that beats the walls 
And wander trembling till it falls ; 
The snow, the summer rain am I, 
In close communion with the sky. 

Philip Henry Savage. 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 

TO study the birds from the level plains to the 
crests of the peaks swimming in cloudland; 
to note the species that are peculiar to the 
various altitudes, as well as those that range from 
the lower areas to the alpine heights; to observe the 
behavior of all the birds encountered in the West, 
and compare their habits, songs, and general deport- 
ment with those of correlated species and genera in 
the East; to learn as much as possible about the 
migratory movements up and down the mountains as 
the seasons wax and wane, — surely that would be an 
inspiring prospect to any student of the feathered 
fraternity. For many years one of the writer's most 
cherished desires has been to investigate the bird 
life of the Rocky Mountains. In the spring of 1899, 
and again in 1901, fortune smiled upon him in the 
most genial way, and — in a mental state akin to 
rapture, it must be confessed — he found himself 
rambling over the plains and mesas and through the 
deep canons, and clambering up the dizzy heights, 
in search of winged rarities. 

19 



20 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

In this chapter attention will be called to a few 
general facts relative to bird life in the Rockies, leav- 
ing the details for subsequent recital. As might be 
expected, the towering elevations influence the move- 
ments of the feathered tenants of the district. There 
is here what might be called a vertical migration, 
aside from the usual pilgrimages north and south 
which are known to the more level portions of North 
America. The migratory journeys up and down the 
mountains occur with a regularity that amounts to a 
system ; yet so far as regards these movements each 
species must be studied for itself, each having manners 
that are all its own. 

In regions of a comparatively low altitude many 
birds, as is well known, hie to the far North to find 
the proper climatic conditions in which to rear their 
broods and spend their summer vacation, some of them 
going to the subarctic provinces and others beyond. 
How different among the sublime heights of the 
Rockies ! Here they are required to make a journey 
of only a few miles, say from five to one hundred or 
slightly more, according to the locality selected, up the 
defiles and canons or over the ridges, to find the con- 
ditions as to temperature, food, nesting sites, etc., that 
are precisely to their taste. The wind blowing down 
to their haunts from the snowy summits carries on its 
wings the same keenness and invigoration that they 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 



21 



would find if they went to British America, where the 
breezes would descend from the regions of snow and 
ice beyond the Arctic Circle. 

It will add a little spice of detail if we take a 
concrete case. There is the handsome and lyrical 
white-crowned sparrow; in my native State, Ohio, 
this bird is only a migrant, passing for the summer 
far up into Canada to court his mate and rear his 
family. Now remember that Col- 
orado is in the same latitude as 
Ohio ; but the Buckeye State, 
famous as it is for furnishing 
presidents, has no lofty eleva- 
tions, and therefore no 
white-crowns as summer 
residents. Ho we ver , 
Colorado may claim 
this distinction, as well 
as that of producing 
gold and silver, and 
furnishing some of the 
sublimest scenery on 
the earth ; for on 
the side of Pike's 
Peak, in a green, 
well-watered valley 
just below timber-line, 




22 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

I was almost thrown into transports at finding the 
white-crowns, listening to their rhythmic choruses, and 
discovering their grass-lined nests by the side of the 
babbling mountain brook. Altitude accomplishes for 
these birds what latitude does for their brothers and 
sisters of eastern North America. 

There is almost endless variety in the avi-faunal life of 
the Rockies. Some species breed far above timber-line 
in the thickets that invade the open valleys, or clamber 
far up the steep mountain sides. Others ascend still 
higher, building their nests on the bald summits of the 
loftiest peaks at an altitude of fourteen thousand feet and 
more, living all summer long in an atmosphere that is as 
rare as it is refreshing and pure. Among these alpine 
dwellers may be mentioned the brown-capped leuco- 
stictes, which shall be accorded the attention they 
deserve in another chapter. Then, there are species 
which have representatives both on the plains and 
far up in the mountain parks and valleys, such as the 
western robin, the western meadow-lark, and the moun- 
tain bluebird. 

In this wonderful country there is to be observed every 
style of migratory habit. A twofold migrating current 
must be noticed. While there is a movement up and 
down the mountain heights, there is at the same time a 
movement north and south, making the migratory system 
a perfect network of lines of travel. Some species sum- 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 23 

mer in the mountains and winter on the plains ; others 
summer in the mountains pass down to the plains in the 
autumn, then wing their way farther south into New 
Mexico, Mexico, Central America, and even South 
America, where they spend the winter, reversing this 
order on their return to the north in the spring ; others 
simply pass through this region in their vernal and 
autumnal pilgrimages, stopping for a short time, but 
spending neither the summer nor the winter in this 
latitude ; still others come down from the remote north 
on the approach of autumn, and winter in this State, 
either on the plains or in the sheltering ravines and 
forests of the mountains, and then return to the north 
in the spring ; and, lastly, there are species that remain 
here all the year round, some of them in the moun- 
tains, others on the plains, and others again in both 
localities. A number of hardy birds — genuine feath- 
ered Norsemen — brave the arctic winters of the upper 
mountain regions, fairly revelling in the swirling snow- 
storms, and it must be a terrific gale indeed that will 
drive them down from their favorite habitats toward 
the plains. 

Does the avi-fauna of the Rocky Mountain district 
differ widely from that of the Eastern States ? The 
reply must be made in the affirmative. Therefore the 
first work of the bird-student from the East will be that 
of a tyro — the identification of species. For this 



24, BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

purpose he must have frequent recourse to the useful 
manuals of Coues and Ridgway, and to the invaluable 
brochure of Professor Wells W. Cooke on the "Birds 
of Colorado.'" In passing, it may be said that the last- 
named gentleman might almost be called the Colorado 
Audubon or Wilson. 

In studying the birds of the West, one should note 
that there are western subspecies and varieties, which 
differ in some respects, though not materially, from their 
eastern cousins; for instance, the western robin, the 
western chipping sparrow, the western lark sparrow, and 
the western nighthawk. Besides, intermediate forms 
are to be met with and classified, the eastern types shad- 
ing off in a very interesting process into the western. It 
would be impossible for any one but a systematist with 
the birds in hand to determine where the intermediate 
forms become either typical easterners or typical 
westerners. 

Most interesting of all to the rambler on avian lore 
intent is the fact that there are many species and genera 
that are peculiar to the West, and therefore new to him, 
keeping him constantly on the qui vive. In Colorado 
you will look in vain for the common blue jay, so abun- 
dant in all parts of the East ; but you will be more than 
compensated by the presence cf seven other species 
of the jay household. The woodpeckers of the West 
(with one exception) are different from those of the 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 25 

East, and so are the flycatchers, the grosbeaks, the 
orioles, the tanagers, the humming-birds, and many of 
the sparrows. Instead of the purple and bronzed grackles 
(the latter are sometimes seen on the plains of Colorado, 
but are not common), the Rockies boast of Brewer's 
blackbird, whose habits are not as prosaic as his name 
would indicate. " Jim Crow " shuns the mountains for 
reasons satisfactory to himself; not so the magpie, the 
raven, and that mischief-maker, Clark's nutcracker. 
All of which keeps the bird-lover from the East in an 
ecstasy of surprises until he has become accustomed to 
his changed environment. 

One cannot help falling into the speculative mood in 
view of the sharp contrasts between the birds of the 
East and those of the West. Why does the hardy and 
almost ubiquitous blue jay studiously avoid the western 
plains and mountains? Why do not the magpie and 
the long-crested jay come east? What is there that 
prevents the indigo-bird from taking up residence in 
Colorado, where his pretty western cousin, the lazuli 
finch, finds himself so much at home? Why is the 
yellow-shafted flicker of the East replaced in the West 
by the red-shafted flicker ? These questions are more 
easily asked than answered. From the writer's present 
home in eastern Kansas it is only six hundred miles 
to the foot of the Rockies ; yet the avi-fauna of 
eastern Kansas is much more like that of the Eastern 



26 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

and New England States than that of the Colorado 
region. 

Perhaps the reason is largely, if not chiefly, physiolog- 
ical. Evidently there are birds that flourish best in a 
rare, dry atmosphere, while others naturally thrive in an 
atmosphere that is denser and more humid. The same 
is true of people. Many persons find the climate of 
Colorado especially adapted to their needs ; indeed, to 
certain classes of invalids it is a veritable sanitarium. 
Others soon learn that it is detrimental to their health. 
Mayhap the same laws obtain in the bird realm. 

The altitude of my home is eight hundred and eighty 
feet above sea-level ; that of Denver, Colorado, six 
thousand one hundred and sixty, making a difference of 
over five thousand feet, which may account for the 
absence of many eastern avian forms in the more elevated 
districts. Some day the dissector of birds may find a 
real difference in the physiological structure of the 
eastern and western meadow-larks. If so, it is to be 
hoped he will at once publish his discoveries for the 
satisfaction of all lovers of birds. 

If one had time and opportunity, some intensely in- 
teresting experiments might be tried. Suppose an 
eastern blue jay should be carried to the top of Pike's 
Peak, or Gray's, and then set free, how would he fare ? 
Would the muscles and tendons of his wings have suffi- 
cient strength to bear him up in the rarefied atmos- 



UP AND DOWN THE HEIGHTS 27 

phere? One may easily imagine that he would go 
wabbling helplessly over the granite boulders, unable 
to lift himself more than a few feet in the air, while the 
pipit and the leucosticte, inured to the heights, would 
mount up to the sky and shout " Ha ! ha ! " in good- 
natured raillery at the blue tenderfoot. And would the 
feathered visitor feel a constriction in his chest and be 
compelled to gasp for breath, as the human tourists 
invariably do ? It is even doubtful whether any eastern 
bird would be able to survive the changed meteorologi- 
cal conditions, Nature having designed him for a differ- 
ent environment. 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 

IT was night when I found lodgings in the pic- 
turesque village of Manitou, nestling at the foot 
of the lower mountains that form the portico 
to Pike's Peak. Early the next morning I was out for 
a stroll along the bush-fringed mountain brook which 
had babbled me a serenade all night. To my delight, 
the place was rife with birds, the first to greet me being 
robins, catbirds, summer warblers, and warbling vireos, 
all of which, being well known in the East, need no 
description, but are mentioned here only to show the 
reader that some avian species are common to both the 
East and the West. 

But let me pause to pay a little tribute to the brave 
robin redbreast. Of course, here he is called the 
"western robin." His distribution is an interesting 
scientific fact. I found him everywhere — on the arid 
plains and mesas, in the solemn pines of the deep 
gulches and passes, and among the scraggy trees border- 
ing on timber-line, over ten thousand feet above sea-level. 
In Colorado the robins are designated as " western," 
forms by the system-makers, but, even though called by 

31 



32 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

a modified title, they deport themselves, build their 
nests, and sing their "cheerily, cheerily, cheer up," 
just as do their brothers and sisters of the land toward 
the rising sun. If there is any difference, their songs 
are not so loud and ringing, and their breasts not quite 
so ruddy as are those of the eastern types. Perhaps the 
incessant sunshine of Colorado bleaches out the tints 
somewhat. 

But in my ante-breakfast stroll at Manitou I soon 
stumbled upon feathered strangers. What was this 
little square-shouldered bird that kept uttering a shrill 
scream, which he seemed to mistake for a song ? It was 
the western wood-pewee. Instead of piping the sweet, 
pensive " Pe-e-e-o-we-e-e-e " of the woodland bird of the 
Eastern States, this western swain persists in ringing 
the changes hour by hour upon that piercing scream, 
which sounds more like a cry of anguish than a song. 
At Buena Vista, where these birds are superabundant, 
their morning concerts were positively painful. One 
thing must be said, however, in defence of the western 
wood-pewee — he means well. 

Another acquaintance of my morning saunter was the 
debonair Arkansas goldfinch, which has received its bun- 
glesome name, not from the State of Arkansas, but from 
the Arkansas River, dashing down from the mountains 
and flowing eastwardly through the southern part of 
Colorado. Most nattily this little bird wears his black 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 33 

cap, his olive-green frock, and his bright yellow vest. 
You will see at once that he dresses differently from the 
American goldfinch, so well known in the East, and, for 
that matter, just as well known on the plains of Colo- 
rado, where both species dwell in harmony. There are 
some white markings on the wings of Spinus psaltria 
that give them a gauze-like appearance when they are 
rapidly fluttered. 

His song and some of his calls bear a close resem- 
blance to those of the common goldfinch, but he is 
by no means a mere duplicate of that bird; he has 
an individuality of his own. While his flight is un- 
dulatory, the waviness is not so deeply and distinctly 
marked; nor does he sing a cheery cradle-song while 
swinging through the ether, although he often utters a 
series of unmusical chirps. One of the most pleasingly 
pensive sounds heard in my western rambles was the 
little coaxing call of this bird, whistled mostly by the 
female, I think. No doubt it is the tender love talk 
of a young wife or mother, which may account for its 
surpassing sweetness. 

Every lover of feathered kind is interested in what 
may be called comparative ornithology, and therefore I 
wish to speak of another western form and its eastern 
prototype — Bullock's oriole, which in Colorado takes 
the place of the Baltimore oriole known east of the 
plains all the way to the Atlantic coast. However, 



34 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Bullock's is not merely a variety or sub-species, but a 
well-defined species of the oriole family, his scientific 
title being Icterus bullocki. 

Like our familiar Lord Baltimore, he bravely bears 
black and orange ; but in bullocki the latter color 
invades the sides of the neck, head, and forehead, leav- 
ing only a small black bow for the throat and a narrow 
black stripe running back over the crown and down the 
back of the neck ; whereas in Icterus galbula the entire 
head and neck are black. Brilliant as Bullock's oriole 
is, he does not seem to be anxious to display his 
fineries, for he usually makes it a point to keep him- 
self ensconced behind a clump of foliage, so that, while 
you may hear a desultory piping in the trees, appar- 
ently inviting your confidence, it will be a long time 
before you can get more than a provoking glimpse of 
the jolly piper himself. " My gorgeous apparel was not 
made for parade," seems to be his modest disclaimer. 

He is quite a vocalist. Here is a quotation from my 
lead-pencil, dashes and all : " Bullock's oriole — fine 
singer — voice stronger than orchard oriole's — song 
not quite so well articulated or so elaborate, but 
louder and more resonant — better singer than the 
Baltimore." It might be added that Bullock's, like 
the orchard, but unlike the Baltimore, pipes a real 
tune, with something of a theme running through its 
intermittent outbursts. The plumage of the young 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 35 

bird undergoes some curious changes, and what I took 

to be the year-old males seemed to be the most spirited 

musicians. 

Maurice Thompson's tribute to the Baltimore oriole 

will apply to that bird's western kinsman. He calls 

him : — 

" Athlete of the air — 
Of fire and song a glowing core ; " 

and then adds, with tropical fervor : 

" A hot flambeau on either wing 
Rimples as you pass me by ; 
T is seeing flame to hear you sing, 
T is hearing song to see you fly. 



" "When flowery hints foresay the berry, 
On spray of haw and tuft of brier, 
Then, wandering incendiary, 

You set the maple swamps afire ! " 

Many nests of Bullock's oriole rewarded my slight 
search. They are larger and less compactly woven 
than the Baltimore's, and have a woolly appearance 
exteriorly, as if the down of the cottonwood trees had 
been wrought into the fabric. Out on the plains I 
counted four dangling nests, old and new, on one 
small limb ; but that, of course, was unusual, there 
being only one small clump of trees within a radius of 
many miles. 



36 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

In the vicinity of Manitou many trips were taken 
by the zealous pedestrian. Some of the dry, steep 
sides of the first range of mountains were hard climb- 
ing, but it was necessary to make the effort in order to 
discover their avian resources. One of the first birds 
met with on these unpromising acclivities was the 
spurred towhee of the Rockies. In his attire he 
closely resembles the towhee, or "chewink," of the 
East, but has as an extra ornament a beautiful 
sprinkling of white on his back and wings, which 
makes him look as if he had thrown a gauzy mantle 
of silver over his shoulders. 

But his song is different from our eastern townee's. 
My notes say that it is " a cross between the song of 
the chewink and that of dickcissel," and I shall 
stand by that assertion until I find good reason to 
disown it — should that time ever come. The opening 
syllabication is like dickcissel's ; then follows a trill 
of no specially definable character. There are times 
when he sings with more than his wonted force, and it 
is then that his tune bears the strongest likeness to the 
eastern towhee's. But his alarm -call ! It is no " che- 
wink " at all, but almost as close a reproduction of a 
cat's mew as is the catbird's well-known call. Such 
crosses and anomalies does this country produce ! 

On the arid mountain sides among the stunted 
bushes, cactus plants, sand, and rocks, this quaint 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 37 

bird makes his home, coming down into the valleys 
to drink at the tinkling brooks and trill his rounde- 
lays. Many, many times, as I was following a deep 
fissure in the mountains, his ditty came dripping down 
to me from some spot far up the steep mountain side — 
a little cascade of song mingling with the cascades of 
the brooks. The nests are usually placed under a bush 
on the sides of the mesas and mountains. 

And would you believe it ? Colorado furnishes an- 
other towhee, though why he should have been put 
into the Pipilo group by the ornithologists is more than 
I can tell at this moment. He has no analogue in the 
East. True, he is a bird of the bushes, running some- 
times like a little deer from one clump to another ; but 
if you should see him mount a boulder or a bush, and 
hear him sing his rich, theme-like, finely modulated song, 
you would aver that he is closer kin to the thrushes or 
thrashers than to the towhees. There is not the re- 
motest suggestion of the towhee minstrelsy in his pro- 
longed and well-articulated melody. It would be 
difficult to find a finer lyrist among the mountains. 

But, hold ! I have neglected to introduce this pretty 
Mozart of the West. He is known by an offensive and 
inapt title — the green-tailed towhee. Much more ap- 
propriately might he be called the chestnut-crowned 
towhee, for his cope is rich chestnut, and the crest is 
often held erect, making him look quite cavalier-like. 



38 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

It is the most conspicuous part of his toilet. His upper 
parts are grayish-green, becoming slightly deeper green 
on the tail, from which fact he derives his common 
name. His white throat and chin are a further dia«:- 
nostic mark. The bright yellow of the edge of the 
wings, under coverts and axillaries is seldom seen, on 
account of the extreme wariness of the bird. 

In most of the dry and bushy places I found him at 
my elbow — or, rather, some distance away, but in evi- 
dence by his mellifluous song. Let me enumerate the 
localities in which I found my little favorite : Forty 
miles out on the plain among some bushes of a shallow 
dip ; among the foothills about Colorado Springs and 
Manitou ; on many of the open bushy slopes along the 
cog-road leading to Pike's Peak, but never in the dark 
ravines or thick timber ; among the bushes just below 
timber-line on the southern acclivity of the peak ; every- 
where around the village of Buena Vista ; about four 
miles below Leadville ; and, lastly, beyond the range at 
Red Cliff and Glenwood. 1 

The song, besides its melodious quality, is full of ex- 
pression. In this respect it excels the liquid chansons 
of the mountain hermit thrush, which is justly cele- 
brated as a minstrel, but which does not rehearse a well- 
defined theme. The townee's song is sprightly and 

1 This list was greatly enlarged in my second trip to Colorado 
in 1901. 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 39 

cheerful, wild and free, has the swing of all outdoors, 
and is not pitched to a minor key. It gives you 
the impression that a bird which sings so blithe- 
some a strain must surely be happy in his domestic 
relations. 

Among the Rockies the black-headed grosbeak is 
much in evidence, and so is his cheerful, good-tempered 
song, which is an exact counterpart of the song of the 
rose-breasted grosbeak, his eastern kinsman. Neither the 
rose-breast nor the cardinal is to be found in Colorado, 
but they are replaced by the black-headed and blue 
grosbeaks, the former dwelling among the lower moun- 
tains, the latter occurring along the streams of the plains. 
Master black-head and his mate are partial to the scrub 
oaks for nesting sites. I found one nest with four callow 
bantlings in it, but, much to my grief and anger, at 
my next call it had been robbed of its precious trea- 
sures. A few days later, not far from the same place, 
a female was building a nest, and I am disposed to 
believe that she was the mother whose children had 
been kidnapped. 

Instead of the scarlet and summer tanagers, the 
Rocky Mountain region is honored with that beautiful 
feathered gentleman, the Louisiana tanager, most of 
whose plumage is rich, glossy yellow, relieved by black 
on the wings, back, and tail ; while his most conspicuous 
decoration is the scarlet or crimson tinting of his head 



40 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

and throat, shading off into the yellow of the breast. 
These colors form a picturesque combination, especially 
if set against a background of green. The crimson 
staining gives him the appearance of having washed his 
face in some bright-red pigment, and like an awkward 
child, blotched his bosom with it in the absence of a 
napkin. 

So far as I could analyze it, there is no appreciable 
difference between his lyrical performances and those of 
the scarlet tanager, both being a kind of lazy, drawling 
song, that is slightly better than no bird music at all. 
One nest was found without difficulty. It was placed 
on one of the lower branches of a pine tree by the road- 
side at the entrance to Engleman's Canon. As a rule, 
the males are not excessively shy, as so many of the 
Rocky Mountain birds are. The tanagers were seen far 
up in the mountains, as well as among the foothills, and 
also at Red Cliff and Glenwood on the western side of 
the Divide. 

A unique character in feathers, one that is peculiar 
to the West, is the magpie, who would attract notice 
wherever he should deign to live, being a sort of grand 
sachem of the outdoor aviary. In some respects the 
magpies are striking birds. In flight they present a 
peculiar appearance ; in fact, they closely resemble boys'' 
kites with their long, slender tails trailing in the 
breeze. I could not avoid the impression that their 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 41 

tails were superfluous appendages, but no doubt they 
serve the birds a useful purpose as rudders and balanc- 
ing-poles. The magpie presents a handsome picture as 
he swings through the air, the iridescent black gleaming 
in the sun, beautifully set off with snowy-white trim- 
mings on both the upper and lower surfaces of the 
wings. On the perch or on the wing he is an ornament 
to any landscape. As to his voice — well, he is a 
genuine squawker. There is not, so far as I have ob- 
served, a musical cord in his larynx, 1 and I am sure he 
does not profess to be a musical genius, so that my 
criticism will do him no injury. All the use he has for 
his voice seems to be to call his fellows to a new-found 
banquet, or give warning of the approach of an inter- 
loper upon his chosen preserves. His cry, if you climb 
up to his nest, is quite pitiful, proving that he has real 
love for his offspring. Perhaps the magpies have won 
their chief distinction as architects. Their nests are 
really remarkable structures, sometimes as large as 



1 In this volume the author has made use of the terminology 
usually employed in describing bird music. Hence such words as 
" song," " chant," " vocal cords," etc., are of frequent occurrence. 
In reality the writer's personal view is that the birds are whistlers, 
pipers, fluters, and not vocalists, none of the sounds they produce 
being real voice tones. The reader who may desire to go into this 
matter somewhat technically is referred to Maurice Thompson's 
chapter entitled "The Anatomy of Bird-Song" in his "Sylvan 
Secrets," and the author's article, " Are Birds Singers or Whis- 
tlers?" in "Our Animal Friends" for June, 1901. 



42 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

fair-sized tubs, the framework composed of good-sized 
sticks, skilfully plaited together, and the cup lined with 
grass and other soft material, making a cosey nursery for 
the infantile magpies. Then the nest proper is roofed 
over, and has an entrance to the apartment on either 
side. When you examine the structure closely, you find 
that it fairly bristles with dry twigs and sticks, and it 
is surprising how large some of the branches are that 
are braided into the domicile. All but one of the many 
nests I found were deserted, for my visit was made in 
June, and the birds, as a rule, breed earlier than that 
month. Some were placed in bushes, some in willow 
and cottonwood trees, and others in pines ; and the 
birds themselves were almost ubiquitous, being found 
on the plains, among the foothills, and up in the moun- 
tains as far as the timber-line, not only close to human 
neighborhoods, but also in the most inaccessible soli- 
tudes. 

In one of my excursions along a stream below Colorado 
Springs, one nest was found that was still occupied by 
the brooding bird. It was a bulky affair, perhaps half 
as large as a bushel basket, placed in the crotch of a 
tree about thirty feet from the ground. Within this 
commodious structure was a globular apartment which 
constituted the nest proper. Thus it was roofed over, 
and had an entrance at each side, so that the bird could 
go into his house at one doorway and out at the other, 



INTRODUCTION TO SOME SPECIES 4,3 

the room being too small to permit of his turning around 
in it. Thinking the nest might be occupied, in a ten- 
tative way I tossed a small club up among the branches, 
when to my surprise a magpie sprang out of the nest, 
and, making no outcry, swung around among the trees, 
appearing quite nervous and shy. When she saw me 
climbing the tree, she set up such a heart-broken series 
of cries that I permitted sentiment to get the better of 
me, and clambered down as fast as I could, rather than 
prolong her distress. Since then I have greatly regretted 
my failure to climb up to the nest and examine its con- 
tents, which might have been done without the least 
injury to the owner's valuable treasures. A nestful of 
magpie's eggs or bairns would have been a gratifying 
sight to my bird-hungry eyes. 

One bird which is familiar in the East as well as the 
West deserves attention on account of its choice of 
haunts. I refer to the turtle dove, which is much 
hardier than its mild and innocent looks would seem to 
indicate. It may be remarked, in passing, that very few 
birds are found in the deep canons and gorges leading 
up to the higher localities ; but the doves seem to consti- 
tute the one exception to the rule ; for I saw them in 
some of the gloomiest defiles through which the train 
scurried in crossing the mountains. For instance, in the 
canon of the Arkansas River many of them were seen from 
the car window, a pair just beyond the Royal Gorge 



44 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



darting across the turbulent stream to the other side. 
A number were also noticed in the darkest portions of 
the canon of the Grand River, where one would think not 
a living creature could coax subsistence from the bare 
rocks and beetling cliffs. Turtle doves are so plentiful 
in the West that their distribution over every avail- 
able feeding ground seems to 
; i be a matter of social 
and 



economic 



necessity. 




Turtle Doves 



Darting across the 
turbulent stream " 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 




Plate II 



Green-tailed Towhee — Pipilo chlorurus 

(Male) 

Spurred Towhee — Pipilo megalonyas 

(Male) 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 

ONE of my chief objects in visiting the Rockies 
was to ascend Pike's Peak from Manitou, and 
make observations on the birds from the base 
to the summit. A walk one afternoon up to the Half- 
way House and back — the Halfway House is only 
about one-third of the way to the top — convinced me 
that to climb the entire distance on foot would be a 
useless expenditure of time and effort. An idea struck 
me : Why not ride up on the cog-wheel train, and then 
walk down, going around by some of the valleys and 
taking all the time needed for observations on the avi- 
faunal tenantry ? That was the plan pursued, and an 
excellent one it proved. 

When the puffing cog-wheel train landed me on the 
summit, I was fresh and vigorous, and therefore in ex- 
cellent condition physically and mentally to enjoy the 
scenery and also to ride my hobby at will over the realm 
of cloudland. The summit is a bald area of several 
acres, strewn with immense fragments of granite, with 
not a spear of grass visible. One of the signal-station 
men asked a friend who had just come up from the 

47 



48 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

plain, " Is there anything green down below ? I "d give 
almost anything to see a green patch of some kind." 
There was a yearning strain in his tones that really 
struck me as pathetic. Here were visitors revelling in 
the magnificence of the panorama, their pulses tingling 
and their feelings in many cases too exalted for expres- 
sion ; but those whose business or duty it was to remain 
on the summit day after day soon found life growing 
monotonous, and longed to set their eyes on some patch 
of verdure. To the visitors, however, who were in hale 
physical condition, the panorama of snow-clad ranges 
and isolated peaks was almost overwhelming. In the 
gorges and sheltered depressions of the old mountain's 
sides large fields of snow still gleamed in the sun and 
imparted to the air a frosty crispness. 

When the crowd of tourists, after posing for their 
photographs, had departed on the descending car, I 
walked out over the summit to see what birds, if 
any, had selected an altitude of fourteen thousand 
one hundred and forty-seven feet above sea-level 
for their summer home. Below me, to the east, 
stretched the gray plains running off to the sky- 
line, while the foothills and lower mountains, which had 
previously appeared so high and rugged and difficult of 
access, now seemed like ant-hills crouching at the foot of 
the giant on whose crown I stood. Off to the southwest, 
the west, and the northwest, the snowv ranges towered, 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 49 

iridescent in the sunlight. In contemplating this vast, 
overawing scene, I almost forgot my natural history, 
and wanted to feast my eyes for hours on its ever-chang- 
ing beauty ; but presently I was brought back to a con- 
sciousness of my special vocation by a sharp chirp. 
Was it a bird, or only one of those playful little chip- 
munks that abound in the Rockies? Directly there 
sounded out on the serene air another ringing chirp, 
this time overhead, and, to my delight and surprise, a 
little bird swung over the summit, then out over the 
edge of the cliff, and plunged down into the fearsome 
abyss of the "Bottomless Pit." Other birds of the 
same species soon followed his example, making it 
evident that this was not a birdless region. Unable to 
identify the winged aeronauts, I clambered about over 
the rocks of the summit for a while, then slowly made 
my way down the southern declivity of the mountain 
for a short distance. Again my ear was greeted with that 
loud, ringing chirp, and now the bird uttering it oblig- 
ingly alighted on a stone not too far away to be seen 
distinctly through my binocular. Who was the little 
waif that had chosen this sky-invading summit for its 
summer habitat ? At first I mistook it for a horned 
lark, and felt so sure my decision was correct that 
I did not look at the bird as searchingly as I should 
have done, thereby learning a valuable lesson in 
thoroughness. The error was corrected by my friend, 

4 



50 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



Mr. Charles E. Aiken, of Colorado Springs, who has 
been of not a little service in determining and classify- 
ing the avian fauna of Colorado. My new-found friend 
(the feathered one, I mean) was the American pipit, 
which some years ago was known as the tit-lark. 

" Te-cheer ! te-cheer ! te-cheer ! " (accent strong on 
the second syllable) the birds exclaimed in half-petulant 
remonstrance at my intrusion as I hobbled about over 
the rocks. Presently one of them darted up into the 
air; up, up, up, he swung in a series of oblique leaps 
and circles, this way and that, until he became a mere 
speck in the sky, and then disappeared from sight in 
the cerulean depths beyond. All the while I could hear 
his emphatic and rapidly repeated call, " Te-cheer ! te- 
cheer ! " sifting down out of the blue canopy. How 
long he remained aloft in "his watch-tower in the 
skies" I do not know, for one cannot well count 
minutes in such exciting circumstances, but it seemed 
^^^ a long time. By and by the call appeared 
4$ B ^° ^ e coming nearer, and the little 
jjr$ aeronaut swept down with a swiftness 

0" that made my blood tingle, and 

<\ alighted on a rock as lightly as 
a snowflake. Afterwards a num- 
ber of other pipits performed 
the same aerial exploit. 
It was wonderful to see 




Pipit, 



Te-cheer! Te-cheer ! " 



> '*V 4 V 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 



51 



them rise several hundred feet into the rarefied atmos- 
phere over an abyss so deep that it has been named 
the " Bottomless Pit;' 

The pipits frequently flitted from 
rock to rock, teetering their slender 
bodies like sandpipers, and chirping 
their disapproval of my presence. 
They furnished some evidence 
of having begun the work 
of nest construction, although 
no nests were found, as it was 
doubtless still too early in 
the season. In some respects 
the pipits are extremely inter- 
esting, for, while many of 
them breed in remote northern 
latitudes, others select the lof- 
tiest summits of the Rockies 
for summer homes, where they rear their 
broods and scour the alpine heights in 
search of food. The following interesting 
facts relative to them in this alpine country 
are gleaned from Professor Cooke's pam- 
phlet on " The Birds of Colorado " : 

In migration they are common through- 
out the State, but breed only on the loftiest 
mountains. They arrive on the plains from 





Pipits 



" Up over the 
Bottomless Pit " 



52 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

the South about the last of April, tarry for nearly a month, 
then hie to the upper mountain parks, stopping there to 
spend the month of May. By the first of June they have 
ascended above timber-line to their summer home amid the 
treeless slopes and acclivities. Laying begins early in July, 
as soon as the first grass is started. Most of the nests are to 
be found at an elevation of twelve thousand to thirteen 
thousand feet, the lowest known being one on Mount 
Audubon, discovered on the third of July with fresh eggs. 
During the breeding season these birds never descend 
below timber-line. The young birds having left the nest, 
in August both old and young gather in flocks and range 
over the bald mountain peaks in quest of such dainties as 
are to the pipit taste. Some of them remain above timber- 
line until October although most of them have by that time 
gone down into the upper parks of the mountains. Dur- 
ing this month they descend to the plains,and in November 
return to their winter residence in the South. 

While watching the pipits, I had another surprise. 
On a small, grassy area amid the rocks, about a hun- 
dred feet below the summit, a white-crowned sparrow 
was hopping about on the ground, now leaping upon a 
large stone, now creeping into an open space under the 
rocks, all the while picking up some kind of seed or nut 
or insect. It was very confiding, coming close to me, 
but vouchsafing neither song nor chirp. Farther on I 
shall have more to say about these tuneful birds, but at 
this point it is interesting to observe that they breed 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 53 

abundantly among the mountains at a height of from 
eight thousand to eleven thousand feet, while the high- 
est nest known to explorers was twelve thousand five 
hundred feet above the sea. One of Colorado's bird 
men has noted the curious fact that they change their 
location between the first and second broods — that is, 
in a certain park at an elevation of eight thousand feet 
they breed abundantly in June, and then most of them 
leave that region and become numerous among the 
stunted bushes above timber-line, where they raise a 
second brood. It only remains to be proved that the 
birds in both localities are the same individuals, which 
is probable. 

On a shoulder of the mountain below me, a flock of 
ravens alighted on the ground, walked about awhile, 
uttered their hoarse croaks, and then took their 
departure, apparently in sullen mood. I could not 
tell whether they croaked " Nevermore ! " or not. 

Down the mountain side I clambered, occasionally 
picking a beautiful blossom from the many brilliant- 
hued clusters and inhaling its fragrance. Indeed, some- 
times the breeze was laden with the aroma of these 
flowers, and in places the slope looked like a culti- 
vated garden. The only birds seen that afternoon 
above timber-line were those already mentioned. What 
do the birds find to eat in these treeless and shrubless 
altitudes ? There are many flies, some grasshoppers, 



54 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

bumble-bees, beetles, and other insects, even in these 
arctic regions, dwelling among the rocks and in the 
short grass below them watered by the melting snows. 

At about half-past four in the afternoon I reached 
the timber-line, indicated by a few small, scattering 
pines and many thick clumps of bushes. Suddenly a 
loud, melodious song brought me to a standstill. It 
came from the bushes at the side of the trail. Although 
I turned aside and sought diligently, I could not find 
the shy lyrist. Another song of the same kind soon 
reached me from a distance. Farther down the path a 
white-crowned sparrow appeared, courting his mate. 
With crown-feathers and head and tail erect, he would 
glide to the top of a stone, then down into the grass 
where his lady-love sat ; up and down, up and down he 
scuttled again and again. My approach put an end to 
the picturesque little comedy. The lady scurried away 
into hiding, while the little prince with the snow-white 
diadem mounted to the top of a bush and whistled the 
very strain that had surprised me so a little while 
before, farther up the slope. Yes, I had stumbled into 
the summer home of the white-crowned sparrow, which 
on the Atlantic coast and the central portions of the 
American continent breeds far in the North. 

It was not long before I was regaled with a white- 
crown vesper concert. From every part of the lonely 
valley the voices sounded. And what did they say? 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 



55 



"Oh, de-e-e-ar, de-e-ar, Whittier, Whittier," some- 
times adding, in low, caressing tones, "Dear Whit- 
tier" — one of the most melodious tributes to the 
Quaker poet I have ever heard. Here I also saw 
my first mountain bluebird, whose back and breast 
are wholly blue, there being no rufous at all in his 
plumage. He was feeding a youngster some- ( 

where among the snags. A red-shafted flicker 
flew across the vale and called, " Zwick- 
ah ! zwick-ah ! " and then pealed out his 
loud call just like the eastern yellow- 
shafted high-holder. Why the Rocky 
Mountain region changes the lining 
of the flicker's wings from gold to 
crimson — who can tell ? A robin — 
the western variety — sang his " Cheer- 
ily," a short distance up the hollow, 
right at the boundary of the timber-line. 

About half-past five I found myself a few 
hundred feet below timber-line in the lone 
valley, which was already beginning to look shadowy 
and a little uncanny, the tall ridges that leaped up at the 
right obscuring the light of the declining sun. My pur- 
pose had been to find accommodations at a mountaineer's 
cabin far down the valley, in the neighborhood of the 
Seven Lakes ; but I had tarried too long on the moun- 
tain, absorbed in watching the birds, and the danger 




" Bear Whittier 

White-Crowned 

Sparrow 



56 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

now was that, if I ventured farther down the hollow, I 
should lose my way and be compelled to spend the night 
alone in this deserted place. I am neither very brave 
nor very cowardly ; but, in any case, such a prospect was 
not pleasing to contemplate. Besides, I was by no means 
sure of being able to secure lodgings at the mountaineer's 
shanty, even if I should be able to find it in the dark. 
There seemed to be only one thing to do — to climb 
back to the signal station on the summit. 

I turned about and began the ascent. How much 
steeper the acclivities were than they had seemed to be 
when I came down ! My limbs ached before I had 
gone many rods, and my breath came short. Upward I 
toiled, and by the time my trail reached the cog-road 
I was ready to drop from exhaustion. Yet I had not 
gone more than a third of the way to the top. I had 
had no supper, but was too weary even to crave food, 
my only desire being to find some place wherein to rest. 
Night had now come, but fortunately the moon shone 
brightly from a sky that was almost clear, and I had 
no difficulty in following the road. 

Wearily I began to climb up the steep cog-wheel 
track. Having trudged around one curve, I came to a 
portion of the road that stretched straight up before 
me for what seemed an almost interminable distance, 
and, oh ! the way looked so steep, almost as if it would 
tumble back upon my head. Could I ever drag myself 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 57 

up to the next bend in the track ? By a prodigious 
effort I did this at last — it seemed " at last " to me, at 
all events — and, lo ! there gleamed before me another 
long stretch of four steel rails. 

My breath came shorter and shorter, until I was 
compelled to open my mouth widely and gasp the cold, 
rarefied air, which, it seemed, would not fill my chest 
with the needed oxygen. Sharp pains shot through my 
lungs, especially in the extremities far down in the 
chest; my head and eye-balls ached, and it seemed 
sometimes as if they would burst ; my limbs trembled 
with weakness, and I tottered and reeled like a drunken 
man from side to side of the road, having to watch 
carefully lest I might topple over the edge and meet 
with a serious accident. Still that relentless track, 
with its quartette of steel rails, stretched steep before 
me in the distance. 

For the last half mile or more I was compelled to 
fling myself down upon the track every few rods to rest 
and recover breath. Up, up, the road climbed, until at 
length I reached the point where it ceases to swing 
around the shoulders of the mountain, and ascends 
directly to the summit. Here was the steepest climb 
of all. By throwing my weary frame on the track at 
frequent intervals and resting for five minutes, taking 
deep draughts of air between my parched lips, I at last 
came in sight of the government building. It is neither 



58 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

a mansion nor a palace, not even a cottage, but never 
before was I so glad to get a glimpse of a building 
erected by human hands. It was past nine o'clock when 
I staggered up to the door and rang the night bell, 
having spent more than three hours and a half in 
climbing about two miles and a half. Too weary to 
sleep, I tossed for hours on my bed. At last, however, 
" nature's sweet restorer " came to my relief, and I slept 
the deep sleep of unconsciousness until seven o'clock 
the next morning, allowing the sun to rise upon the 
Peak without getting up to greet him. That omission 
may have been an unpardonable sin, for one of the 
chief fads of visitors is to see the sun rise from the 
Peak ; but I must say in my defence that, in the first 
place, I failed to wake up in time to witness the Day 
King's advent, and, in a second place, being on bird 
lore intent rather than scenic wonders, my principal 
need was to recruit my strength for the tramping to be 
done during the day. The sequel proved that, for my 
special purpose, I had chosen the wiser course. 

By eight o'clock I had written a letter home, eaten a 
refreshing breakfast, paying a dollar for it, and another 
for lodging, and was starting down the mountain, sur- 
prised at the exhilaration I felt, in view of my extreme 
exhaustion of the evening before. I naturally expected 
to feel stiff and sore in every joint, languid and woe-be- 
gone ; but such was not the case. It is wonderful how 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 59 

soon one recovers strength among these heights. How 
bracing is the cool mountain air, if you breathe it 
deeply ! As I began the descent, I whistled and sang, 
— that is, I tried to. To be frank, it was all noise and 
no music, but I must have some way of giving expres- 
sion to the uplifted emotions that filled my breast. 
Again and again I said to myself, " I 'm so glad ! I 'm 
so glad! I'm so glad!" It was gladness pure and 
simple, — the dictionary has no other word to express 
it. No pen can do justice to the panorama of moun- 
tain and valley and plain as viewed from such a height 
on a clear, crisp morning of June. One felt like ex- 
claiming with George Herbert : 

" Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
The bridal of the earth and sky ! " 

So far as the aesthetic value of it went, I was monarch 
of all I surveyed, even though mile on mile of grandeur 
and glory was spread out before me. The quatrain of 
Lowell recurred to my mind : 

** 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'T is only God may be had for the asking ; 
No price is set on the lavish summer ; 
June may be had by poorest comer." 

Before leaving the Peak, I watched a flock of birds 
eating from the waste-heap at the Summit House. They 
were the brown-capped rosy finches, called scientifically 
Leucosticte australis. Their plumage was a rich choco- 



60 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

late, suffused over neck, breast, and back with intense 
crimson, while the pileum was quite black. With one 
exception — the white-tailed ptarmigan — they range 
the highest in summer of all Colorado birds. They are 
never seen below timber-line in that season, and are not 
known to breed below twelve thousand feet ; thence to 
the tops of the highest peaks they hatch and rear their 
young. In August old and young swarm over the sum- 
mits picking edible insects from the snow, while in winter 
they descend to timber-line, where most of them remain 
to brave the arctic weather and its frequent storms. 

Bidding a regretful good-by to the summit, for it 
held me as by a magician's spell, I hastened down the 
steep incline of the cog-wheel road, past Windy Point, 
and turning to the right, descended across the green 
slope below the boulder region to the open, sunlit valley 
which I had visited on the previous afternoon. It was 
an idyllic place, a veritable paradise for birds. Such a 
chorus as greeted me from the throats of I know not 
how many white-crowned sparrows, — several dozen, per- 
haps, — it would have done the heart of any lover of 
avian minstrelsy good to listen to. The whole valley 
seemed to be transfigured by their roundelays, which 
have about them such an air of poetry and old-world 
romance. During the morning I was so fortunate as to 
find a nest, the first of this species that I had ever dis- 
covered. Providence had never before cast my lot with 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 6l 

these birds in their breeding haunts. The nest was a 
pretty structure placed on the ground, beneath a bush 
amid the green grass, its holdings consisting of four 
dainty, pale-blue eggs, speckled with brown. The 
female leaped from her seat as I passed near, and in 
that act divulged her little family secret. Although 
she chirped uneasily as I bent over her treasures, she 
had all her solicitude for nothing ; the last thing I 
would think of doing would be to mar her maternal 
prospects. As has been said, in this valley these hand- 
some sparrows were quite plentiful ; but when, toward 
evening, I clambered over a ridge, and descended into 
the valley of Moraine Lake, several hundred feet lower 
than the Seven Lakes valley, what was my surprise to 
find not a white-crown there ! The next day I trudged 
up to the Seven Lakes, and found the white-crowns 
quite abundant in the copses, as they had been farther 
up the hollow on the previous day ; and, besides, in a 
boggy place about two miles below Moraine Lake there 
were several pairs, and I was fortunate enough to find 
a nest. Strange — was it not ? — that these birds 
should avoid the copsy swamps near Moraine Lake, and 
yet select for breeding homes the valleys both above 
and below it. Perhaps the valley of Moraine Lake is 
a little too secluded and shut in by the towering 
mountains on three sides, the other places being more 
open and sunshiny. 



62 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

The upper valley was the summer home of that mu- 
sician par excellence of the Rockies, the green -tailed 
towhee, and he sang most divinely, pouring out his 

" full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art." 

Having elsewhere described his minstrelsy and habits 
with more or less fulness, I need give him only this 
passing reference here. A little bird with which I here 
first made acquaintance was an elegant species known 
as Audubon's warbler, which may be regarded as the 
western representative of the myrtle warbler of the East. 
The two birds are almost counterparts. Indeed, at first 
I mistook the Audubon for the myrtle. The former 
has a yellow throat, while the latter's throat is white. 

In all the upper mountain valleys, and on the steep 
slopes of the western as well as the eastern side of the 
Divide, I had the Audubon warblers often at my elbow. 
In summer they make their homes at an altitude of 
seven to eleven thousand feet, and are partial to pine 
timber ; indeed, I think I never found them elsewhere, 
save occasionally among the quaking asps. I learned 
to distinguish Audubon's chanson from those of his 
fellow-minstrels. It is not much of a song — a rather 
weak little trill, with a kind of drawl in the vocalization 
that forms its diagnostic feature. The persistency with 
which it is repeated on the solitary pine-clad mountain 
sides constitutes its principal charm. 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 63 

The winter haunts of Audubon's warblers are farther 
south than Colorado, mostly in Mexico and Guatemala, 
although a few of them remain in the sheltered moun- 
tain valleys of the western part of the United States. 
Early in May they appear on the plains of eastern Col- 
orado, where they are known only as migrants. Here a 
double movement presently takes place — what might 
be called a longitudinal and a vertical migration — one 
division of the warbler army sweeping north to their 
breeding grounds in Canada, and the other wheeling 
westward and ascending to the alpine heights among 
the mountains, where they find the subartic conditions 
that are congenial to their natures without travelling so 
great a distance. Here they build their nests in the 
pine or spruce trees, rear their families, and as autumn 
approaches, descend to the plains, tarry there a week or 
two, then hie to their winter homes in the South. 

One of the most gorgeous tenants of this valley was 
Wilson's warbler. 1 It wears a dainty little cap that is 
jet black, bordered in front and below with golden yel- 
low, while the upper parts are rich olive and the lower 
parts bright yellow. These warblers were quite abun- 
dant, and were evidently partial to the thickets covering 
the boggy portions of the vale. While Audubon's 

1 Mr. Aiken says, "The Rocky Mountain representative of 
"Wilson's warbler is an intermediate form, nearest the Pacific coast 
bird which is distinguished as the pileolated warbler." 



64 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

warblers kept themselves for the most part among the 
pines on the slopes and acclivities, the little black-caps 
preferred the lower ground. Their songs were not bril- 
liant performances, though rather pleasing, being short, 
jerky trills, somewhat lower in the scale than those of 
the well-known summer warbler. 

While I was stalking about in the low, boggy part 
of the hollow, my attention was attracted by an odd 
little song that came rolling down from the pines on 
the mountain side. At length, time was found to go to 
the place whence the song came. What could the gav 
little minstrel be ? Somewhere I had heard such min- 
strelsy — but where ? There were runs in it that bore 
some resemblance to certain strains of the Carolina 
wren's vigorous lays, but this songster's voice was of a 
finer quality and had less volume than that of the 
Carolina. The little bird was found flitting among the 
pines, and continued to sing his gay little ballad with 
as much vigor as before. Indeed, my presence seemed 
to inspire him to redouble his efforts and to sing with 
more snap and challenge. He acted somewhat like a 
wren, but was smaller than any species of that family 
with which I was acquainted, and no part of his plumage 
was barred with brown and white. 

Now the midget in feathers leaped up the alternating 
branches of a pine, and now he flew down and fluttered 
amid the chaos of dead logs and boughs on the ground. 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 



65 



all the while rolling his ditty from his limber tongue. 
Beginning with an exceedingly fine whistle, which could 
not be heard far away, he descanted in sounds that it is 
impossible to convey in syllables. The best literation 
of his song that I was able to make was the following : 
" Tse-e-ek, tse-e-ek, tse-e-e-ek, cholly-cholly-cholly, che- 
che-che, pur- tie, pur-tie, pur-tie ! " the pur-tie accented 
strongly on the second syllable and the whole per- 
formance closing with an interrogative inflection. 

For a long time I watched the little acrobat, but 
could not settle his identity. Some hours later, while 
stalking along the other side of the valley, I heard the 
song duplicated ; this time the singer elevated his crest 
feathers, and at once I recognized him ; he was the ruby- 
crowned kinglet, of course, of course ! It was a shame 
not to identify him at first sight. In Ohio I had often 
heard his song during the migrating season, and now 
remembered it well ; but never dreaming that the ruby- 
crown would be found in these 
alpine districts, I was com- 
pletely thrown off my 
reckoning on hearing 
his quaint melodies. 

The ruby-crowned 
kinglet migrates to these 
heights in the spring 
and rears his brood at 




Ruby-Crowned 
Kinglet 



The singer elevated 
his crest feathers" 



66 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

an elevation of from nine thousand feet to the timber- 
line, building a nest far up in a pine tree ; whereas his 
eastern kindred hie to the northern part of the United 
States and beyond, to find summer homes and suitable 
breeding grounds. Within their chosen boundaries the 
rubies are very plentiful in the Rockies, their quaint 
rondeaus tumbling down from every pine-clad acclivity. 
In October they descend to the plains, and in the latter 
part of the month hurry off to a more southerly clime. 

The birds were most abundant in the upper part of 
the valley, keeping close to the precipitous heights of 
the Peak. It was a long walk down to the mountaineer's 
cabin, and I had reason to be glad for not having under- 
taken to find it the evening before, as I should cer- 
tainly have lost my way in the darkness. No one was 
at home now, but through the screen door I could see a 
canary in a cage. Not a very inviting place to spend 
the night, I reflected, and I crossed the valley, climbed 
a steep ridge, following a slightly used wagon road, and 
trudged down the other side into what I afterwards 
found was the valley of Moraine Lake, one of the crystal 
sheets of water that are seen from the summit of Pike's 
Peak sparkling in the sunshine. While climbing the 
ridge, I saw my first mountain chickadee, capering about 
in the trees. He called like the familiar black-cap, and 
his behavior was much like that bird's. As will be seen 
in another chapter, I afterwards heard the mountain 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 67 

chickadee's song on the western side of the range, and 
found it to be quite unlike the minor strain of our pleas- 
ant black -cap of the East. 

On the mountain side forming the descent to Moraine 
Lake a flock of Clark's nutcrackers were flying about in 
the pine woods, giving expression to their feelings in a 
great variety of calls, some of them quite strident. 
A little junco came in sight by the side of the trail, 
and hopped about on the ground, and I was surprised 
to note a reddish patch ornamenting the centre of his 
back. Afterwards I learned that it was the gray- 
headed junco, which is distinctly a western species, breed- 
ing among the mountains of Colorado. Thrashing about 
among some dead boles, and making a great to-do, were 
a pair of small woodpeckers, which closely resembled the 
well-known downies of our eastern longitudes. I suppose 
them to have been their western representatives, which 
are known, according to Mr. Aiken and Professor Cooke, 
as Batchelder's woodpecker. Near the same place I saw 
a second pair of mountain bluebirds, flitting about some- 
what nervously, and uttering a gentle sigh at inter- 
vals; but as evening was now rapidly approaching, I 
felt the need of finding lodging for the night, and could 
not stop to hunt for their nest. 

Faring down the mountain side to the lake, I circled 
around its lower end until I came to the cottage of the 
family who have the care of the reservoirs that supply 



68 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

the three towns at the foot of the mountains with water 
fresh from the snowfields. Here, to my intense relief, 
I was able to secure lodging and board as long as I 
desired to remain. 

I enjoyed the generous hospitality offered me for two 
nights and considerably more than one day. It was a 
genuine retreat, right at the foot of a tall mountain, 
embowered in a grove of quaking asps. Several persons 
from Colorado Springs, one of them a professor of the 
college, were spending their outing at the cottage, and 
a delightful fellowship we had, discussing birds, litera- 
ture, and mountain climbing. 

After resting awhile, I strolled up the valley to listen 
to the vesper concert of the birds, and a rich one it 
was. The western robins were piping their blithesome 
" Cheerilies," Audubon's warblers were trilling in the 
pines, and, most of all — but here I had one of the 
most gratifying finds in all my mountain quest. It 
will perhaps be remembered that the white-crowned 
sparrows, so plentiful in the upper valley, were not to be 
seen in the valley of Moraine Lake. Still there were 
compensations in this cloistered dip among the tower- 
ing mountains ; the mountain hermit thrushes — some- 
times called Audubon's thrushes — found the seques- 
tered valley precisely to their liking, and on the evening 
in question I saw them and heard their pensive cadences 
for the first time. Such exquisite tones, which seemed 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 69 

to take vocal possession of the vale and the steep, pine- 
clad mountain side, it has seldom been my good fortune 
to hear. Scores of the birds were singing simultane- 
ously, some of their voices pitched high in the scale and 
others quite low, as though they were furnishing both 
the air and the contralto of the chorus. It was my first 
opportunity to listen to the songs of any of the several 
varieties of hermit thrushes, and I freely confess that I 
came, a willing captive, under the spell of their min- 
strelsy, so sweet and sad and far away, and yet so rich 
in vocal expression. In the latter part of the run, 
which is all too brief, there is a strain which bears close 
resemblance to the liquid melody of the eastern wood- 
thrush, but the opening notes have a pathetic quality 
all their own. Perhaps Charles G. D. Roberts can give 
some idea of one's feelings at a time like this : 

*' O hermit of evening ! thine hour 
Is the sacrament of desire, 
When love hath a heavenlier flower, 
And passion a holier fire." 

A happy moment it was when a nest of this moun- 
tain hermit was discovered, saddled on one of the lower 
limbs of a pine and containing four eggs of a rich green 
color. These birds are partial to dense pine forests on 
the steep, rocky mountain sides. They are extremely 
shy and elusive, evidently believing that hermit thrushes 
ought to be heard and not seen. A score or more may 



70 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

be singing at a stone's throw up an acclivity, but if you 
clamber toward them they will simply remove further 
up the mountain, making your effort to see and hear 
them at close range unavailing. That evening, how- 
ever, as the gloaming settled upon the valley, one se- 
lected a perch on a dead branch some distance up the 
hillside, and obligingly permitted me to obtain a fair 
view of him with my glass. The hermits breed far up 
in the mountains, the greatest altitude at which I found 
them being on the sides of Bald Mountain, above Seven 
Lakes and a little below the timber-line. To this day 
their sad refrains are ringing in my ears, bringing back 
the thought of many half-mournful facts and incidents 
that haunt the memory. 

A good night's rest in the cottage, close beneath the 
unceiled roof, prepared the bird-lover for an all-day 
ramble. The matutinal concert was early in full swing, 
the hermit thrushes, western robins, and Audubon's 
warblers being the chief choralists. One gaudy Au- 
dubon's warbler visited the quaking asp grove surround- 
ing the cottage, and trilled the choicest selections of 
his repertory. Farther up the valley several Wilson's 
warblers were seen and heard. A shy little bird flit- 
ting about in the tangle of grass and bushes in the 
swampy ground above the lake was a conundrum to me 
for a long time, but I now know that it was Lincoln's 
sparrow, which was later found in other ravines among 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 71 

the mountains. It is an exceedingly wary bird, keeping 
itself hidden amid the bushy clusters for the greater 
part of the time, now and then venturing to peep out 
at the intruder, and then bolting quickly into a safe 
covert. Occasionally it will hop out upon the top of 
a bush in plain sight, and remain for a few moments, 
just long enough for you to fix its identity and note the 
character of its pleasing trill. Some of these points 
were settled afterwards and not on the morning of my 
first meeting with the chary little songster. 

My plan for the day was to retrace my steps of the 
previous afternoon, by climbing over the ridge into the 
upper valley and visiting the famous Seven Lakes, which 
I had missed the day before through a miscalculation in 
my direction. Clarke crows and the mountain jays 
were abundant on the acclivities. One of the latter 
dashed out of a pine bush with a clatter that almost 
raised the echoes, but, look as I would, I could find no 
nest or young or anything else that would account for 
the racket. 

The Seven Lakes are beautiful little sheets of trans- 
parent water, embosomed among the mountains in a 
somewhat open valley where there is plenty of sunshine. 
They are visible from the summit of Pike^ Peak, from 
which distant viewpoint they sparkle like sapphire gems 
in a setting of green. As seen from the Peak they 
appear to be quite close together, and the land about 



72 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

them seems perfectly level, but when you visit the place 
itself, you learn that some of them are separated from 
the others by ridges of considerable height. Beautiful 
and sequestered as the spot is, I did not find as many 
birds as I expected. Not a duck or water bird of any 
kind was seen. Perhaps there is too much hunting 
about the lakes, and, besides, winged visitors here would 
have absolutely no protection, for the banks are free of 
bushes of any description, and no rushes or flags grow 
in the shallower parts. On the ridges and mountain 
sides the kinglets and hermit thrushes were abundant, 
a robin was carolling, a Batchelder woodpecker chirped 
and pounded in his tumultuous way, Clark's crows and 
several magpies lilted about, while below the lakes in 
the copses the white-crowned sparrows and green-tailed 
towhees held lyrical carnival, their sway disputed only 
by the natty Wilson's warblers. 

It was a pleasure to be alive and well in such a place, 
where one breathed invigoration at every draught of 
the fresh, untainted mountain air; nor was it less a 
delight to sit on the bank of one of the transparent 
lakes and eat my luncheon and quaff from a pellucid 
spring that gushed as cold as ice and as sweet as nectar 
from the sand, while the white-crowned sparrows trilled 
a serenade in the copses. 

Toward evening I clambered down to the cottage by 
Moraine Lake. The next morning, in addition to the 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 73 

birds already observed in the valley, I listened to the 
theme-like recitative of a warbling vireo, and also 
watched a sandpiper teetering about the edge of the 
water, while a red-shafted flicker dashed across the lake 
to a pine tree on the opposite side. As I left this at- 
tractive valley, the hermit thrushes seemed to waft me 
a sad farewell. 

A little over half a day was spent in walking down 
from Moraine Lake to the Halfway House. It was a 
saunter that shall never be forgotten, for I gathered a 
half day's tribute of lore from the birds. A narrow 
green hollow, wedging itself into one of the gorges of 
the towering Peak, and watered by a snow-fed moun- 
tain brook, proved a very paradise for birds. Here 
was that queer little midget of the Rockies, the broad- 
tailed humming-bird, which performs such wonderful 
feats of balancing in the air ; the red-shafted flicker ; 
the western robin, singing precisely like his eastern half- 
brother ; a pair of house-wrens guarding their treasures ; 
Lincoln's sparrows, not quite so shy as those at Mo- 
raine Lake ; mountain chickadees; olive-sided flycatchers; 
on the pine-clad mountain sides the lyrical hermit 
thrushes ; and finally those ballad-singers of the moun- 
tain vales, the white-crowned sparrows, one of whose 
nests I was so fortunate as to come upon. It was 
placed in a small pine bush, and was just in process of 
construction. One of the birds flew fiercely at a mis- 



74 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

chievous chipmunk, and drove him away, as if he knew 
him for an arrant nest-robber. 

Leaving this enchanting spot, I trudged down the 
mountain valleys and ravines, holding silent converse 
everywhere with the birds, and at length reached a 
small park, green and bushy, a short distance above the 
Halfway House. While jogging along, my eye caught 
sight of a gray-headed junco, which flitted from a clump 
of bushes bordering the stream to a spot on the ground 
close to some shrubs. The act appeared so suggestive 
that I decided to reconnoitre. I walked cautiously to 
the spot where the bird had dropped down, and in a 
moment she flew up with a scolding chipper. There 
was the nest, set on the ground in the grass and cosily 
hidden beneath the over-arching branches of a low bush. 
Had the mother bird been wise and courageous enough 
to retain her place, her secret would not have been be- 
trayed, the nest was so well concealed. 

The pretty couch contained four juvenile j uncos 
covered only with down, and yet, in spite of their ex- 
treme youth, their foreheads and lores showed black, and 
their backs a distinctly reddish tint, so early in life were 
they adopting the pattern worn by their parents. The 
persistency of species in the floral and faunal realms 
presents some hard nuts for the evolutionist to crack. 
But that is an excursus, and would lead us too far afield. 
This was the first junco's nest I had ever found, and 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 75 

no one can blame me for feeling gratified with the dis- 
covery. The gray -headed j uncos were very abundant in 
the Rockies, and are the only species at present known 
to breed in the State of Colorado. They are differen- 
tiated from the common slate-colored snowbird by their 
ash-gray suits, modestly decorated with a rust-colored 
patch on the back. 

It was now far past noon, and beginning to feel weak 
with hunger, I reluctantly said adieu to the junco and 
her brood, and hurried on to the Halfway House, where 
a luncheon of sandwiches, pie and coffee strengthened 
me for the remainder of my tramp down the mountain 
to Manitou. That was a walk which lingers like a 
Greek legend in my memory on account of — well, that 
is the story that remains to be told. 

On a former visit to the Halfway House I was men- 
tally knocked off my feet by several glimpses of a wood- 
pecker which was entirely new to me, and of whose 
existence I was not even aware until this gorgeous 
gentleman hove in sight. He was the handsomest 
member of the Picidce family I have ever seen — his 
upper parts glossy black, some portions showing a bluish 
iridescence ; his belly rich sulphur yellow, a bright red 
median stripe on the throat, set in the midst of the 
black, looking like a small necktie; two white stripes 
running along the side of the head, and a large white 
patch covering the middle and greater wing-coverts. 



76 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Altogether, an odd livery for a woodpecker. Silently 
he swung from bole to bole for a few minutes, and then 
disappeared. 

Not until I reached my room in Manitou could I fix 
the bird's place in the avicular system. By consulting 
Coues's Key and Professor Cooke's brochure on the Birds 
of Colorado, I found this quaintly costumed woodpecker 
to be Williamson's sapsucker (Sphyrapicus thyroideus), 
known only in the western part of the United States from 
the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific coast. I now lingered 
in the beautiful pine grove surrounding the Halfway 
House, hoping to see him again, but he did not appear, 
and I reluctantly started down the cog-wheel track. 

As I was turning a bend in the road, I caught sight 
of a mountain chickadee flitting to a dead snag on the 
slope at the right, the next moment slipping into a 
small hole leading inside. I climbed up to the shelf, a 
small level nook among the tall pines on the mountain 
side, to inspect her retreat, for it was the first nest of this 
interesting species that I found. The chickadee flashed 
in and out of the orifice, carrying food to her little ones, 
surreptitiously executing her housewifely duties. The 
mountain tit seems to be a shy and quiet little body 
when compared with the common black-cap known in 
the East. 

While watching this bird from my place of conceal- 
ment, I became conscious of the half-suppressed chirping 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 77 

of a woodpecker, and, to my intense joy, a moment later 
a Williamson's sapsucker swung to a pine bole a little 
below me and began pecking leisurely and with assumed 
nonchalance for grubs in the fissures of the bark. From 
my hiding-place behind some bushes I kept my eye on 
the handsome creature. An artist might well covet the 
privilege of painting this elegant bird as he scales the 
wall of a pine tree. Presently he glided to a snag not 
more than a rod from the chickadee's domicile, and then 
I noticed that the dead bole was perforated by a number 
of woodpecker holes, into one of which the sapsucker 
presently slipped with the tidbit he held in his bill. 
The doorway was almost too small for him, obliging him 
to turn slightly sidewise and make some effort to effect 
an entrance. Fortune had treated me as one of her 
favorites : I had discovered the nest of Williamson's 
sapsucker. 

But still another surprise was in store. A low, dubi- 
ous chirping was heard, and then the female ambled 
leisurely to the snag and hitched up to the orifice. She 
made several efforts to enter, but could not while her 
spouse was within. Presently he wormed himself out, 
whereupon she went in, and remained for some time. 
At length I crept to the snag and beat against it with 
my cane. She was loath to leave the nest, but after a 
little while decided that discretion was the better part of 
valor. When she came out, my presence so near her 



78 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

nursery caused her not a little agitation, which she dis- 
played by flinging about from bole to bole and uttering 
a nervous chirp. 

As to costume, the male and the female had little in 
common. Her back was picturesquely mottled and 
barred with black and white, her head light brown, her 
breast decorated with a large black patch, and her other 
under parts yellow. Had the couple not been seen 
together flitting about the nest, they would not have 
been regarded as mates, so differently were they habited. 

Standing before the doorway of the nursery — it was not 
quite so high as my head — I could plainly hear the 
chirping of the youngsters within. Much as I coveted 
the sight of a brood of this rare species, I could not bring 
myself to break down the walls of their cottage and thus 
expose them to the claws and beaks of their foes. Even 
scientific curiosity must be restrained by considerations 
of mercy. 

The liege lord of the family had now disappeared. 
Desirous of seeing him once more, I hid myself in a 
bush-clump near at hand and awaited his return. Pres- 
ently he came ambling along and scrambled into the 
orifice, turning his body sidewise, as he had done before. 
I made my way quietly to the snag and tapped upon it 
with my cane, but he did not come out, as I expected 
him to do. Then I struck the snag more vigorously. 
No result. Then I whacked the bole -directly in the rear 



BALD PEAKS AND GREEN VALES 79 

of the nest, while I stood close at one side watching the 
doorway. The bird came to the orifice, peeped out, 
then, seeing me, quickly drew back, determined not to 
desert his brood in what he must have regarded as an 
emergency. In spite of all my pounding and coaxing 
and feigned scolding — and I kept up the racket for 
several minutes — I did not succeed in driving the pater 
familias from his post of duty. Once he apparently 
made a slight effort to escape, but evidently stuck fast 
in the entrance, and so dropped back and would not 
leave, only springing up to the door and peeping out at 
me when my appeals became especially vigorous. It 
appeared like a genuine case of " I 'm determined to 
defend my children, or die in the attempt ! " 

Meanwhile the mother bird was flitting about in an 
agitated way, uttering piteous cries of remonstrance 
and entreaty. Did that bandit intend to rob her of 
both her husband and her children ? It was useless, if 
not wanton, to hector the poor creatures any longer, even 
to study their behavior under trying circumstances; 
and I left them in peace, and hurried down to my lodg- 
ings in Manitou, satisfied with the results of my day's 
ramble. 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 




Plate III 



Lazuli Bunting — Cyanospiza amcena 
(Upper figure, male; lower, female) 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 

HAVING explored the summit of Pike's Peak 
and part of its southern slope down to the 
timber-line, and spent several delightful days 
in the upper valleys of the mountains, as well as in 
exploring several canons, the rambler was desirous of 
knowing what species of birds reside on the plain 
stretching eastward from the bases of the towering 
ranges. One afternoon in the latter part of June, I 
found myself in a straggling village about forty miles 
east of Colorado Springs. 

On looking around, I was discouraged, and almost 
wished I had not come ; for all about me extended the 
parched and treeless plain, with only here and there a 
spot that had a cast of verdure, and even that was of 
a dull and sickly hue. Far off to the northeast rose a 
range of low hills sparsely covered with scraggy pines, 
but they were at least ten miles away, perhaps twenty, 
and had almost as arid an aspect as that of the plains 
themselves. Only one small cluster of deciduous trees 
was visible, about a mile up a shallow valley or " draw." 
Surely this was a most unpromising field for bird study. 



84 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 





ii^- 






^_ , 



Desert Horned Larks 

" They were plentiful in this parched region " 

If I had only been content to remain among the moun- 
tains, where, even though the climbing was difficult, 
there were brawling brooks, shady woodlands, and green, 
copsy vales in which many feathered friends had lurked ! 
But wherever the bird-lover chances to be, his mania 
leads him to look for his favorites, and he is seldom 
disappointed ; rather, he is often delightfully surprised. 
People were able to make a livelihood here, as was 
proved by the presence of the village and a few scatter- 
ing dwellings on the plain ; then why not the birds, 
which are as thrifty and wise in many ways as their 
human relatives? In a short time my baggage was 
stowed in a safe place, and, field-glass in hand, I 
sallied forth for my first jaunt on a Colorado plain. 
But, hold ! what were these active little birds, hopping 
about on the street and sipping from the pool by the 
village well? They were the desert horned larks, so 
called because they select the dry plains of the West 
as their dwelling place. They are interesting birds. 






BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 85 

The fewer trees and the less humidity, provided there 
is a spot not too far away at which they may quench 
their thirst and rinse their feathers, the better they 
seem to be pleased. They were plentiful in this 
parched region, running or flying cheerfully before me 
wherever my steps were bent. I could not help won- 
dering how many thousands of them — and millions, 
perhaps — had taken up free homesteads on the seem- 
ingly limitless plains of eastern Colorado. 

Most of the young had already left the nest, and 
were flying about in the company of their elders, learn- 
ing the fine art of making a living for themselves and 
evading the many dangers to which bird flesh is heir. 
The youngsters could readily be distinguished from 
their seniors by the absence of distinct black markings 
on throat, chest, and forehead, and the lighter cast of 
their entire plumage. 

Sometimes these birds are called shore larks; but 
that is evidently a misnomer, or at least a very inapt 
name, for they are not in the least partial to the sea- 
shore or even the shores of lakes, but are more disposed 
to take up their residence in inland and comparatively 
dry regions. There are several varieties, all bearing a 
very close resemblance, so close, indeed, that only an 
expert ornithologist can distinguish them, even with 
the birds in hand. The common horned lark is well 
known in the eastern part of the United States as a 



86 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

winter resident, while in the middle West, Missouri, 
Kansas, Nebraska, etc., are to be found the prairie 
horned larks, which, as their name indicates, choose the 
open prairie for their home. The desert horned larks 
are tenants exclusively of the arid plains, mesas, and 
mountain parks of the West. There is still another 
variety, called the pallid horned lark, which spends the 
winter in Colorado, then hies himself farther north in 
summer to rear his brood. 

As I pursued my walk, one of these birds suddenly 
assumed an alert attitude, then darted into the air, 
mounting up, up, up, in a series of swift leaps, like 
"an embodied joy whose race has just begun.'" Up he 
soared until he could no longer be seen with the naked 
eye, and even through my field-glass he was a mere 
speck against the blue canopy, and yet, high as he had 
gone, his ditty filtered down to me through the still, 
rarefied atmosphere, like a sifting of fine sand. His 
descent was a grand plunge, made with the swiftness 
of an Indian's arrow, his head bent downward, his 
wings partly folded, and his tail perked upward at 
precisely the proper angle to make a rudder, all the 
various organs so finely adjusted as to convert him into 
a perfectly dirigible parachute. Swift as his descent 
was, he alighted on the ground as lightly as a tuft of 
down. It was the poetry of motion. One or two 
writers have insisted that the horned lark's empyrean 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 87 

song compares favorably with that of the European 
skylark ; but, loyal and patriotic an American as we 
are, honesty compels us to concede that our bird's 
voice is much feebler and less musical than that of his 
celebrated relative across the sea. It sounds like the 
unmelodious clicking of pebbles, while the song of the 
skylark is loud, clear, and ringing. 

Our birds of the plain find insects to their taste in 
the short grass which carpets the land with greenish or 
olive gray. The following morning a mother lark was 
seen gathering insects and holding them in her bill — a 
sure sign of fledglings in the near neighborhood. I 
decided to watch her, and, if possible, find her bantlings. 
It required not a little patience, for she was wary and 
the sun poured down a flood of almost blistering heat. 
This way and that she scurried over the ground, now 
picking up an insect and adding it to the store already 
in her bill, and now standing almost erect to eye me 
narrowly and with some suspicion. At length she 
seemed to settle down for a moment upon a particular 
spot, and when I looked again with my glass, her beak 
was empty. I examined every inch of ground, as I 
thought, in the neighborhood of the place where she 
had stopped, but could find neither nest nor nestlings. 

Again I turned my attention to the mother bird, 
which meanwhile had gathered another bunch of insects 
and was hopping about with them through the croppy 



88 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



grass, now and then adding to her accumulation until 
her mouth was full. For a long time she zigzagged 
about, going by provoking fits and starts. At length 
fortune favored me, for through my levelled glass I 
suddenly caught sight of a small, grayish-looking ball 
hopping and tumbling from a cactus clump toward the 
mother bird, who jabbed the contents of her bill into 
a small, open mouth. I followed a bee-line to the 
spot, and actually had to scan the ground sharply for 
a few moments before I could distinguish the youngster 

from its surroundings, for it 
had squatted flat, its gray 
and white plumage har- 
monizing perfectly with 
the grayish desert grass. 
It was a dear little 
thing, and did not try to 
escape, although I took it up 
in my hand and stroked 
its downy back again and 
Sometimes it closed its eves 



again. 

as if it were sleepy. When I placed 

It was a dear it on the ground, it hopped away a few inches, and 

little thing" ^ accident pimc tured the fleshy corner of its mouth 

with a sharp cactus thorn, and had to jerk itself loose, 

bringing the blood from the lacerated part. Meanwhile 

the mother lark went calmly about her household duties, 




BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 89 

merely keeping a watchful eye on the human meddler, 
and making no outcry when she saw her infant in my 
possession. I may have been persona non grata, but, if so, 
she did not express her feeling. This was the youngest 
horned lark seen bv me in my rambles on the plains. 

Perhaps the reader will care to know something 
about the winter habits of these birds. They do not 
spend the season of cold and storm in the mountains, 
not even those that breed there, for the snow is very 
deep and the tempests especially fierce. Many of them, 
however, remain in the foothills and on the mesas and 
plains, where they find plenty of seeds and berries for 
their sustenance, unless the weather chances to be 
unusually severe. One winter, not long ago, the snow 
continued to lie much longer than usual, cutting off 
the natural food supply of the larks. What regimen 
did they adopt in that exigency ? They simply went 
to town. Many of the kindly disposed citizens of Colo- 
rado Springs scattered crumbs and millet seeds on the 
streets and lawns, and of this supply the little visitors 
ate greedily, becoming quite tame. As soon, however, 
as the snow disappeared they took their departure, not 
even stopping to say thanks or adieu ; although we 
may take it for granted that they felt grateful for 
favors bestowed. 

Besides the horned larks, many other birds were 
found on the plain. Next in abundance were the 



90 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

western meadow-larks. Persons who live in the East 
and are familiar with the songs of the common mead- 
ow-lark, should hear the vocal performances of the 
westerners. The first time I heard one of them, the 
minstrelsy was so strange to my ear, so different from 
anything I had ever heard, I was thrown into an 
ecstasy of delight, and could not imagine from what 
kind of bird larynx so quaint a medley could emanate. 
The song opened with a loud, fine, piercing whistle, and 
ended with an abrupt staccato gurgle much lower in the 
musical staff, sounding precisely as if the soloist's per- 
formance had been suddenly choked off by the rising of 
water in the windpipe. It was something after the 
order of the purple martin's melodious sputter, only 
the tones were richer and fuller and the music better 
defined, as became a genuine oscine. His sudden and 
emphatic cessation seemed to indicate that he was in 
a petulant mood, perhaps impatient with the intruder, 
or angry with a rival songster. 

Afterwards I heard him — or, rather, one of his 
brothers — sing arias so surpassingly sweet that I voted 
him the master minstrel of the western plains, prairies, 
and meadows. One evening as I was returning to Colo- 
rado Springs from a long tramp through one of the 
canons of the mountains, a western meadow-lark sat 
on a small tree and sang six different tunes within 
the space of a few minutes. Two of them were so 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 91 

exquisite and unique that I involuntarily sprang to 
my feet with a cry of delight. There he sat in the 
lengthening shadows of Cheyenne Mountain, the 
champion phrase-fluter of the irrigated meadow in 
which he and a number of his comrades had found 
a summer home. 

On the plain, at the time of my visit, the meadow- 
larks were not quite so tuneful, for here the seasons are 
somewhat earlier than in the proximity of the moun- 
tains, and the time of courtship and incubation was 
over. Still, they sang enough to prove themselves 
members of a gifted musical family. Observers in the 
East will remember the sputtering call of the eastern 
larks when they are alarmed or their suspicions are 
aroused. The western larks do not utter alarums of 
that kind, but a harsh "chack" instead, very similar 
to the call of the grackles. The nesting habits of the 
eastern and western species are the same, their domiciles 
being placed on the ground amid the grass, often 
prettily arched over in the rear and made snug and 
neat. 

It must not be thought, because my monograph on 
the western larks is included in this chapter, that they 
dwell exclusively on the arid plain. No; they revel 
likewise in the areas of verdure bordering the streams, 
in the irrigated fields and meadows, and in the watered 
portions of the upper mountain parks. 



92 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

An interesting question is the following : Are the 
eastern and western meadow-larks distinct species, or 
only varieties somewhat specialized by differences of 
locality and environment ? It is a problem over which 
the scientific professors have had not a little disputation. 
My own opinion is that they are distinct species and do 
not cohabit, and the conviction is based on some special 
investigations, though not of the kind that are made 
with the birds in hand. It has been my privilege to 
study both forms in the field. In the first place, their 
vocal exhibitions are very different, so much so as to 
indicate a marked diversity in the organic structure of 
their larynxes. Much as I have listened to their min- 
strelsy, I have never known one kind to borrow from 
the musical repertory of the other. True, there are 
strains in the arias of the westerners that closely re- 
semble the clear, liquid whistle of the eastern larks, but 
they occur right in the midst of the song and are part 
and parcel of it, and therefore afford no evidence of 
mimicry or amalgamation. Even the trills of the grass- 
finch and the song-sparrow have points of similarity ; 
does that prove that they borrow from each other, or 
that espousals sometimes occur between the two species ? 

The habiliments of the two forms of larks are more 
divergent than would appear at first blush. Above, the 
coloration of neglecta (the western) is paler and grayer 
than that of magna, the black markings being less con- 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 93 

spicuous, and those on the tertials and middle tail- 
feathers being arranged in narrow, isolated bars, and 
not connected along the shaft. While the flanks and 
under tail-coverts of magna are distinctly washed with 
buff, those of neglecta are white, very faintly tinged 
with buff, if at all. The yellow of the throat of the 
eastern form does not spread out laterally over the 
malar region, as does that of the western lark. All 
of which tends to prove that the two forms are distinct. 
Early in the spring of 1901 the writer took a trip to 
Oklahoma in the interest of bird-study, and found both 
kinds of meadow-larks extremely abundant and lavish 
of their melodies on the fertile prairies. He decided to 
carry on a little original investigation in the field of 
inquiry now under discussion. One day, in a draw of 
the prairie, he noticed a western meadow-lark which was 
unusually lyrical, having the skill of a past-master in the 
art of trilling and gurgling and fluting. Again and 
again I went to the place, on the same day and on dif- 
ferent days, and invariably found the westerner there, 
perching on the fence or a weed-stem, and greeting me 
with his exultant lays. But, mark : no eastern lark 
ever intruded on his preserve. In other and more 
distant parts of the broad field the easterners were 
blowing their piccolos, but they did not encroach on 
the domain of the lyrical westerner, who, with his mate 
— now on her nest in the grass — had evidently jumped 



94 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

his claim and held it with a high hand. In many other 
places in Oklahoma and Kansas where both species 
dwell, I have noticed the same interesting fact — that 
in the breeding season each form selects a special pre- 
cinct, into which the other form does not intrude. 
They perhaps put up some kind of trespass sign. 
These observations have all but convinced me that S. 
magna and S. neglecta are distinct species, and avoid 
getting mixed up in their family affairs. 

Nor is that all. While both forms dwell on the vast 
prairies of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Nebraska, yet, as you 
travel eastward, the western larks gradually diminish 
in number until at length they entirely disappear; 
whereas, if you journey westward, the precise opposite 
occurs. I have never heard neglecta east of the Mis- 
souri River, 1 nor magna on the plains of Colorado. 
Therefore the conclusion is almost forced upon the 
observer that there are structural and organic differences 
between the two forms. 

After the foregoing deductions had been reached, the 
writer bethought him of consulting Ridgway's Man- 
ual on the subject, and was gratified to find his views 

1 He sometimes ventures, though sparingly, as far east as Illinois 
and Wisconsin ; still my statement is true — I have never heard 
the western lark even in the bottoms and meadows of the broad 
valley east of the Missouri Riv£r, while, one spring morning, I did 
hear one of these birds fluting in the top of a cottonwood tree in 
my yard on the high western bluff of that stream. 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 95 

corroborated by a footnote answering to an asterisk 
affixed to the name of the western lark: 

"Without much doubt a distinct species. The occur- 
rence of both S. neglecta and S. magna together in many 
portions of the Mississippi Valley, each in its typical style 
(the ranges of the two overlapping, in fact, for a distance 
of several hundred miles), taken together with the ex- 
cessive rarity of intermediate specimens and the univer- 
sally attested radical difference in their notes, are facts 
wholly incompatible with the theory of their being merely 
geographical races of the same species." 

This has been a long excursus, and we must get back 
to our jaunt on the plain. While I was engaged in 
watching the birds already named, my ear was greeted 
by a loud, clear, bell-like call ; and, on looking in the 
direction from which it came, I observed a bird hover- 
ing over a ploughed field not far away, and then descend- 
ing with graceful, poising flight to the ground. It 
proved to be the Arkansas flycatcher, a large, elegant 
bird that is restricted to the West. I had never seen 
this species. Nothing like him is known in the East, 
the crested flycatcher being most nearly a copy of him, 
although the manners of the two birds are quite unlike. 
The body of the western bird is as large as that of the 
robin, and he must be considerably longer from tip of 
beak to tip of tail. He is a fine-looking fellow, present- 



96 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

ing a handsome picture as he stands on a weed-stalk or 
a fence-post, his yellow jacket gleaming in the sun. He 
is the possessor of a clear, musical voice, and if he had 
the vocal organs of some of the oscines, he certainly would 
be one of the best feathered lyrists of America. Un- 
fortunately he is able to do nothing but chirp and 
chatter, although he puts not a little music into his 
simple vocal exercises. 

It was surprising to note on how slender a weed-stalk 
so large a bird was able to perch. There being few trees 
and fences in this region, he has doubtless gained ex- 
pertness through practice in the art of securing a foot- 
hold on the tops of the weed-stems. Some of the weeds 
on which he stood with perfect ease and grace were ex- 
tremely lithe and flexible and almost devoid of branches. 

But what was the cause of this particular bird's in- 
tense solicitude ? It was obvious there was a nest in the 
neighborhood. As I sought in the grass and weed- 
clumps, he uttered his piercing calls of protest and 
circled and hovered overhead like a red-winged black- 
bird. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that the 
flycatchers of my acquaintance do not nest on the 
ground, but on trees. I looked around, and, sure 
enough, in the shallow hollow below me stood a soli- 
tary willow tree not more than fifteen or twenty feet 
high, the only tree to be seen within a mile. And that 
lone tree on the plain was occupied by the flycatcher 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 97 

and his mate for a nesting place. In a crotch the gray 
cottage was set, containing three callow babies and one 
beautifully mottled egg. 

In another fork of the same small tree a pair of king- 
birds — the same species as our well-known eastern bee- 
martins — had built their nest, in the downy cup of 
which lay four eggs similarly decorated with brown 
spots. The birds now all circled overhead and joined 
in an earnest plea with me not to destroy their homes 
and little ones, and I hurriedly climbed down from the 
tree to relieve their agitation, stopping only a moment 
to examine the twine plaited into the felted nests of the 
kingbirds. The willow sapling contained also the nest 
of a turtle dove. 

" If there are three nests in this small tree, there may 
be a large number in the cluster of trees beyond the 
swell about a mile away, 1 ' I mused, and forthwith made 
haste to go to the place indicated. I was not disap- 
pointed. Had the effort been made, I am sure two 
score of nests might have been found in these trees, for 
they were liberally decorated with bird cots and ham- 
mocks. Most of these were kingbirds' and Arkansas 
flycatchers'' nests, but there were others as well. On 
one small limb there were four of the dangling nests of 
Bullock's orioles, one of them fresh, the rest more or 
less weather beaten, proving that this bird had been 
rearing broods here for a number of seasons. 



98 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Whose song was this ringing from one of the larger 
trees a little farther down the glade ? I could scarcely 
believe the testimony of my ears and eyes, yet there 
could be no mistake — it was the vivacious mimicry of 
the mocking-bird, which had travelled far across the 
plain to this solitary clump of trees to find singing 
perches and a site for his nests. He piped his musical 
miscellany with as much good-cheer as if he were dwell- 
ing in the neighborhood of some embowered cottage in 
Dixie-land. In suitable localities on the plains of Col- 
orado the mockers were found to be quite plentiful, but 
none were seen among the mountains. 

A network of twigs and vines in one of the small 
willows afforded a support and partial covert for the 
nest of a pair of white-rumped shrikes. It contained 
six thickly speckled eggs, and was the first nest of this 
species I had ever found. The same hollow, — if so 
shallow a dip in the plain can be called a hollow, — 
was selected as the home of several pairs of red-winged 
and Brewer's blackbirds, which built their grassy cots 
in the low bushes of a slightly boggy spot, where a 
feeble spring oozed from the ground. It was a special 
pleasure to find a green-tailed towhee in the copse of 
the draw, for I had supposed that he always hugged 
close to the steep mountain sides. 

A walk before breakfast the next morning added sev- 
eral more avian species to my roll. To my surprise, a 



BIRDS OF THE ARID PLAIN 99 

pair of mountain bluebirds had chosen the village for 
their summer residence, and were building a nest in 
the coupler of a freight car standing on a side track. 
The domicile was almost completed, and I could not 
help feeling sorry for the pretty, innocent couple, at 
the thought that the car would soon be rolling hun- 
dreds of miles away, and all their loving toil would go 
for naught. Bluebirds had previously been seen at the 
timber-line among the mountains, and here was a pair 
forty miles out on the plain — quite a range for this 
species, both longitudinally and vertically. 

During the forenoon the following birds were ob- 
served : A family of juvenile Arkansas flycatchers, 
which were being fed by their parents ; a half-dozen or 
more western grassfinches, trilling the same pensive 
tunes as their eastern half-brothers ; a small, long-tailed 
sparrow, which I could not identify at the time, but 
which I now feel certain was Lincoln's sparrow ; these, 
with a large marsh-harrier and a colony of cliff -swal- 
lows, completed my bird catalogue at this place. It 
may not be amiss to add that several jack-rabbits went 
skipping over the swells ; that many families of prairie 
dogs were visited, and that a coyotte galloped lightly 
across the plain, stopping and looking back occasionally 
to see whether he w r ere being pursued. 

It was no difficult task to study the birds on the 
plain. Having few hiding-places in a locality almost des- 

L.cfC. 



100 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



titute of trees and bushes, where even the grass was too 
short to afford a covert, they naturally felt little fear of 
man, and hence were easily approached. Their cousins 
residing in the mountains were, as a rule, provokingly 
wary. The number of birds that had pre-empted home- 
steads on the treeless wastes was indeed a gratifying 
surprise, and I went back to the mountains refreshed 

by the pleasant change my brief ~^^ excursion 

^r — 
upon the plains had afforded me. 

• in miii miMiini^r ffBiFniMMMTin rit i " " iV 




Coyottc 



Looking back to see whether he were being pursued " 



A PRETTY HUMMER 



A PRETTY HUMMER 




HERE do you suppose I got my first 
glimpse of the mite in feathers called 
the broad-tailed humming-bird ? It 
was in a green bower in the Rocky Mountains 
in plain sight of the towering summit of Pike's 
Peak, which seemed almost to be standing 
guard over the place. Two brawling mountain 
brooks met here, and, joining their forces, went 
with increased speed and gurgle down the glades and 
gorges. As they sped through this ravine, they 
slightly overflowed their banks, making a boggy area 
of about an acre as green as green could be ; and here 
amid the grass and bushes a number of birds found a 
pleasant summer home, among them the dainty hummer. 
From the snowdrifts, still to be seen in the sheltered 
gorges of Pike's Peak, the breezes would frequently 
blow down into the nook with a freshness that stimu- 
lated like wine with no danger of intoxicating ; and 
it was no wonder that the white-crowned sparrows, 

103 



ONE OF THE SEVEN LAKES 

PlKE'S Peak shows dimly in the background, more plainly in 
the reflection. Viewed from the peak, the lakes sparkle like 
opaline gems in the sun. The waters are so clear that an in- 
verted world is seen in their transparent depths. The valley 
is an elysium for many kinds of birds, most of them described 
in the text. The white-crowned spai'rows love the shores of 
these beautiful lakes, which mirror the blithe forms of the birds. 
The pine forests of the mountain sides are vocal with the 
refrains of the hermit thrushes. 



106 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Lincoln's sparrows, the robins and wrens, and several 
other species, found in this spot a pleasant place to 
live. One of the narrow valleys led directly up to the 
base of the massive cone of the Peak, its stream fed by 
the snow-fields shining in the sun. Going around by 
the valley of Seven Lakes, I had walked down from the 
summit, but nowhere had I seen the tiny hummer until 
I reached the green nook just described. Still, he 
sometimes ascends to an elevation of eleven thousand 
feet above the level of the sea. 

Our feathered dot is gorgeous with his metallic green 
upper parts, bordered on the tail with purplish black, 
his white or grayish under parts, and his gorget of 
purple which gleams in bright, varying tints in the 
sun. He closely resembles our common ruby-throated 
humming-bird, whose gorget is intense crimson instead 
of purple, and who does not venture into the Rocky 
Mountain region, but dwells exclusively in the eastern 
part of North America. It is a little strange that the 
eastern part of our country attracts only one species of 
the large hummer family, while the western portion, 
including the Rocky Mountain region, can boast of 
at least seventeen different kinds as summer residents or 
visitors. 

My attention was first directed to the broad-tailed 
hummer by seeing him darting about in the air with 
the swiftness of an arrow, sipping honey from the flower 



A PRETTY HUMMER 107 

cups, and then flying to the twigs of a dead tree that 
stood in the marsh. There he sat, turning his head 
this way and that, and watching me with his keen 
little eyes. It was plain he did not trust me, and 
therefore resented my presence. Though an unwel- 
come guest, I prolonged my call for several hours, dur- 
ing which I made many heroic but vain attempts to 
find his nest. 

But what was the meaning of a sharp, insect-like 
buzzing that fell at intervals on my ear? Presently 
I succeeded in tracing the sound to the hummer, which 
utters it whenever he darts from his perch and back 
again, especially if there is a spectator or a rival near 
at hand, for whom he seems in this way to express his 
contempt. It is a vocal sound, or, at least, it comes 
from his throat, and is much louder and sharper than 
the susurrus produced by the rapid movement of his 
wings. This I ascertain by hearing both the sounds at 
the same time. 

But the oddest prank which this hummer performs is 
to dart up in the air, and then down, almost striking a 
bush or a clump of grass at each descent, repeating this 
feat a number of times with a swiftness that the eye 
can scarcely follow. Having done this, he will swing up 
into the air so far that you can scarcely see him with 
the naked eye ; the next moment he will drop into view, 
poise in mid-air seventy-five or a hundred feet above 



108 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

your head, supporting himself by a swift motion of the 
wings, and simply hitching to right and left in short 
arcs, as if he were fixed on a pivot, sometimes mean- 
while whirling clear around. There he hangs on his 
invisible axis until you grow tired watching him, and 
then he darts to his favorite perch on the dead tree. 
No doubt John Vance Cheney had in mind another 
species when he composed the following metrical de- 
scription, but it aptly characterized the volatile broad- 
tail as well : , 

" Voyager on golden air, 
Type of all that 's fleet and fair, 
Incarnate gem, 
Live diadem, 

Bird-beam of the summer day, — 
Whither on your sunny way ? 



Stay, forget lost Paradise, 
Star-bird fallen from happy skies. 1 



After that first meeting the broad-tailed hummers 
were frequently seen in my rambles among the Rockies. 
In some places there were small colonies of them. They 
did not always dwell together in harmony, but often 
pursued one another like tiny furies, with a loud z-z-z- 
zip that meant defiance and war. The swiftness of 
their movements often excited my wonder, and it was 
difficult to see how they kept from impaling themselves 
on thorns or snags, so reckless were their lightning-like 



A PRETTY HUMMER 109 

passages through the bushes and trees. When four or 
five of them were found in one place, they would fairly 
thread the air with green and purple as they described 
their circles and loops and festoons with a rapidity that 
fairly made my head whirl. At one place several of 
them grew very bold, dashing at me or wheeling around 
my head, coming so close that I could hear the susurrus 
of their wings as well as the sharp, challenging buzz 
from their throats. 

Perhaps it would interest you to know where the 
rambler found these tiny hummers. They were never 
in the dark canons and gorges, nor in the ravines that 
were heavily wooded with pine, but in the open, sun- 
shiny glades and valleys, where there were green grass 
and bright flowers. In the upper part of both North 
and South Cheyenne Canons they were plentiful, al- 
though they avoided the most scenic parts of these 
wonderful mountain gorges. Another place where 
they found a pleasant summer home was in a green 
pocket of the mountain above Red Cliff, a village on 
the western side of the great range. On descending 
the mountains to the town of Glenwood, I did not find 
them, and therefore am disposed to think that in the 
breeding season they do not choose to dwell in too low 
or too high an altitude, but seek suitable places at an 
elevation of from seven thousand to nine thousand 
feet. 



SUMMIT OF PIKE'S PEAK 

Only a small portion of the peak is shown hi the view. 
The comparatively level area referred to in the text lies 
back of the signal station on the crest. At a garbage heap 
near the building a flock of leucostictes were seen, and the writer 
was told that they came there regularly to feed. From this 
sublime height the American pipits rise on resilient wings hun- 
dreds of feet into the air until they disappear in the cerulean 
depths of the sky, singing all the while at " heaven s gate." 



112 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

One day, while staying at Buena Vista, Colorado, I 
hired a saddle-horse and rode to Cottonwood Lake, twelve 
miles away, among the rugged mountains. The valley 
is wide enough here to admit of a good deal of sun- 
shine, and therefore flowers studded the ground in places. 
It was here I saw the only female broad-tailed hummer 
that was met with in my rambles in the Rockies. She 
was flitting among the flowers, and did not make the 
buzzing sound that the males produce wherever found. 
She was not clad so elegantly as were her masculine 
relatives, for the throat-patch was white instead of 
purple, and the green on her back did not gleam 
so brightly. But, oddly enough, her sides and under 
tail-coverts were stained with a rufous tint — a color 
that does not appear at all in the costume of the 
male. 

A curious habit of these hummers is worth describ- 
ing. The males remain in the breeding haunts until 
the young are out of the nest and are beginning to be 
able to shift for themselves. Then the papas begin to 
disappear, and in about ten days all have gone, leaving 
the mothers and the youngsters to tarry about the sum- 
mer home until the latter are strong enough to make 
the journey to some resort lower in the mountains or 
farther south. The reason the males do this is perhaps 
evident enough, for at a certain date the flowers upon 
whose sweets the birds largely subsist begin to grow 






A PRETTY HUMMER 113 

scant, and so if they remained there would not be 
enough for all. 

In the San Francisco Mountains of Arizona, Doctor 
Merriam found the broad-tails very abundant in the 
balsam timber and the upper part of the pine belt, 
where thev breed in the latter part of July ; after which 
they remain in that region until the middle of Sep- 
tember, even though the weather often becomes quite 
frosty at night. At break of day, in spite of the cold, 
thev will gather in large flocks at some spring to drink 
and bathe. Doctor Merriam says about them at such 
times : 

"They were like swarms of bees, buzzing about one's 
head and darting to and fro in every direction. The air 
was full of them. They would drop down to the water, 
dip their feet and bellies, and rise and shoot away as if 
propelled by an unseen power. They would often dart 
at the face of an intruder as if bent on piercing the eye 
with their needle-like bills, and then poise for a moment 
almost within reach before turning, when they were again 
lost in the busy throng. Whether this act was prompted 
Ijj curiosity or resentment I was not able to ascertain." 

As has already been said, there is not always unruffled 
peace in the hummer family. Among the Rocky Moun- 
tains, and especially on the western side of the range, 
there dwells another little hummer called the rufous 
.humming-bird, because the prevailing color of his plum- 

8 



114 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

age is reddish, and between this family and the broad- 
tails there exists a bitter feud. When, in the migrating 
season, a large number of both species gather together 
in a locality where there is a cluster of wild-flowers, the 
picture they make as they dart to and fro and bicker 
and fight for some choice blossom, their metallic colors 
flashing in the sun, is so brilliant as never to be for- 
gotten by the spectator who is fortunate enough to 
witness it. 




"Pike's Peak in cloadland " 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 

ONE June day a Denver & Rio Grande train 
bore the bird-lover from Colorado Springs to 
Pueblo, thence westward to the mountains, up 
the Grand Canon of the Arkansas River, through the 
Royal Gorge, past the smiling, sunshiny upper moun- 
tain valleys, over the Divide at Tennessee Pass, and 
then down the western slopes to the next stopping-place, 
which was Red Cliff, a village nestling in a deep moun- 
tain ravine at the junction of Eagle River and Turkey 
Creek. The following day, a little after " peep o" dawn," 
I was out on the street, and was impressed by a song 
coming from the trees on the acclivity above the village. 
" Surely that is a new song," I said to myself; " and yet 
it seems to have a familiar air." A few minutes of hard 
climbing brought me near enough to get my glass on 
the little lyrist, and then I found it was only the house- 
wren ! " How could you be led astray by so familiar a 
song?" you inquire. Well, that is the humiliating 
part of the incident, for I have been listening to the 
house-wren's gurgling sonata for some twenty years — 
rather more than less — and should have recognized it 

117 



118 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 




V 



/ at once ; only it must be re- 

membered that I was in a strange place, and 
had my ears and eyes set for avian rarities, and 
therefore blundered. 1 

To my surprise, I found many birds on those 
steep mountain sides, which were quite well 
timbered. Above the village a colony of cliff- 
swallows had a nesting place on the rugged face 
of a cliff, and were soaring about catching insects 
and attending to the wants of their greedy young. 
Besides the species named, I here found war- 
bling vireos, broad-tailed humming-birds, western 



Cliff-Swallows 



On the rugged ^rj^ 
face of a cliff" (^^ 



On this incident I quote a personal note from my 
friend, Mr. Aiken : "The wren of the Rockies is the 
western house-wren, but is the same form as that found 
in the Mississippi Valley. It is quite possible that a 
difference in song may occur, but I have not noticed 
any." 






OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 119 

night-hawks, ruby-crowned kinglets, magpies, summer 
warblers, mountain chickadees, western wood-pewees, 
Louisiana tanagers, long-crested jays, kingfishers, gray- 
headed j uncos, redshafted flickers, pygmy nuthatches, 
house-finches, mountain jays, and Clarke's nutcrackers. 
The only species noted here that had not previously 
been seen east of the Divide was the pygmy nuthatch, 
a little bird which scales the trunks and branches of 
trees like all his family, but which is restricted to the 
Rocky Mountains. Like the white-breasted nuthatch, 
he utters an alto call, " Yang ! yang ! yang ! n only it 
is soft and low — a miniature edition of the call of its 
eastern relative. 

A mountain chickadee's nest was also found, and 
here I heard for the first time one of these birds sing. 
Its performance was quite an affecting little minor 
whistle, usually composed of four distinct notes, though 
sometimes the vocalist contented himself with a song 
of two or three syllables. The ordinary run might be 
represented phonetically in this way, " Phee, ph-e-e-e, 
phe-phe," with the chief emphasis on the second syllable, 
which is considerably prolonged. The song is quite 
different from that of the black-capped chickadee 
both in the intoning and the technical arrangement, 
while it does not run so high in the scale, nor does 
it impress me as being quite so much of a minor strain, 
if such a distinction can be made in music. Both 



120 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

birds' tunes, however, have the character of being- 
whistled. 

Glenwood is a charming summer resort in Colorado 
on the western side of the Rocky Mountain range, and 
can be reached by both the Denver & Rio Grande and 
the Colorado Midland Railways. Beautifully situated 
in an open mountain valley, it possesses many attrac- 
tions in the way of natural scenery, while the cool 
breezes blow down from the snow-mantled ranges gleam- 
ing in the distance, and the medicinal springs draw 
many tourists in search of health and recuperation. 

My purpose, however, in visiting this idyllic spot — 
I went there from Red Cliff — was not primarily to 
view the scenery, nor to make use of the healing waters, 
but to gratify my thirst for bird-lore. Having spent 
some weeks in observing the avi-fauna east of the 
range, I had a curiosity to know something of bird life- 
west of the great chain of alpine heights, and therefore 
I selected Glenwood as a fertile field in which to carry 
on some investigations. While my stay at this resort 
was all too short, it was of sufficient length to put me 
in possession of a number of facts that may prove to be 
of general interest. 

For one thing I learned, somewhat to my surprise, 
that the avian fauna on both sides of the Divide is 
much the same. Indeed, with one exception — to be 
noted more at length hereafter — I found no birds on 






OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 121 

the western side that I had not previously seen on the 
eastern side, although a longer and minuter examination 
Mould undoubtedly have resulted in the discovery of a 
few species that are peculiar to the regions beyond the 
range. In the extreme western and southwestern por- 
tions of Colorado there are quite a number of species 
that are seldom or never seen in the eastern part of the 
State. However, keeping to the mountainous districts, 
and given the same altitude and other conditions, you 
will be likely to find the same kinds of feathered folk on 
both sides of the range. A few concrete cases will make 
this statement clear. The elevation of Glenwood is 
five thousand seven hundred and fifty-eight feet ; that 
of Colorado Springs, five thousand nine hundred and 
ninety-two feet ; and the climatic conditions otherwise 
are practically the same. Hence at both places the 
following species were found : Lazuli buntings, Arkansas 
goldfinches, American goldfinches, western wood-pewees, 
Arkansas king-birds, Bullock's orioles, grassfinches, and 
catbirds. At the same time there were a number of 
species in both localities that have a more extensive ver- 
tical range, as, for example, the western robins, which 
were seen in many places from the bases of the moun- 
tains up to the timber-line, over eleven thousand five 
hundred feet above sea-level. 

The presence of practically the same avian fauna on 
both sides of the great range suggests some speculations 



ROYAL GORGE 

Iff the Grand Canon of the Arkansas River. In canons like 
this, their walls rising almost vertically from one thousand to 
fifteen hundred feet, few birds are to be seen. Occasion- 
ally a dove will fly from one side of the gorge to the other 
before the scurrying train. From below a magpie or a Clark's 
crow may sometimes be seen flying overhead across the fearful 
chasm from one wall to the other, turning its head at intervals 
as if to inspect and question the spectator over a thousand feet 
below. 



124 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

as to their movements in the migrating season. Do 
those on the western side of the mountains travel over 
the towering summits from the eastern plains? Or do 
they come up from their southern winter homes by way 
of the valleys and plains west of the range ? Undoubt- 
edly the latter is the correct surmise, for there were 
birds at Glenwood that are never known to ascend far 
into the mountains, and should they attempt to cross 
the Divide in the early spring, they would surely perish 
in the intense cold of those elevated regions, where 
snow often falls even in June, July, and August. One 
can easily imagine some of the eastern and western 
residents meeting in the autumn on the plains at the 
southern extremity of the mountain range, dwelling 
together in some southern locality throughout the 
winter, and then, when spring approaches, taking their 
separate routes, part going east and part west of the 
range, for their breeding haunts in the North. More 
than likely they do not meet again until the following 
autumn. There are individuals, doubtless, that never 
catch a glimpse of the western side of the great Ameri- 
can watershed, while others are deprived of the priv- 
ilege of looking upon the majestic panoramas of the 
eastern side. 

What has just been said applies, of course, only to 
those species that prefer to dwell in the lower altitudes. 
There are other species that find habitats to their taste 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 125 

in the most elevated localities, ranging at will in the 
summer time over the bald summits in the regions of 
perpetual snow. Among these may be mentioned the 
brown-capped leucostictes, the American pipits, the 
ravens, and Brewer's blackbirds. These species will 
often have the privilege of looking upon the scenery on 
both sides of the range, and you and I can scarcely 
repress a feeling of envy when we think of their happy 
freedom, and their frequent opportunities to go sight- 
seeing. 

While taking an earlv morning stroll along one of 
the streets of Glenwood, I caught sight of a new 
member of the phcebe family, its reddish breast and 
sides differentiating it from the familiar phoebe of the 
East. Afterwards I identified it as Say's phoebe, a 
distinctly western species. Its habits are like those of 
its eastern relative. A pair of Say's phcebes had 
placed their nest on a beam of a veranda, near the 
roof, where they could be seen carrying food to their 
vouno;. My notes sav nothing of their singing a tune 
or even uttering a chirp. This was my first observation 
of Say's phoebe, although, as will be seen, I subsequently 
saw one under somewhat peculiar circumstances. 

Having spent all the time I could spare at Glenwood, 
one morning I boarded the eastward-bound train, and 
was soon whirling up through the sublime canons of 
Grand and Eagle Rivers, keeping on the alert for such 



126 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

birds as I could see from the car-window. Few birds, 
as has been said, can be seen in the dark gorges of 
the mountains, the species that are most frequently de- 
scried being the turtle doves, with now and then a small 
flock of blackbirds. The open, sunlit valleys of the 
upper mountains, watered by the brawling streams, are 
much more to the liking of many birds, especially the 
mountain song-sparrows, the white-crowned sparrows, 
the green-tailed towhees, and Audubon's and Wilson's 
warblers. Up, up, for many miles the double-headed 
train crept, tooting and puffing hard, until at length it 
reached the highest point on the route, which is Tennes- 
see Pass, through the tunnel of which it swept with a 
sullen roar, issuing into daylight on the eastern side, 
where the waters of the streams flow eastward instead of 
westward. The elevation of this tunnel is ten thousand 
four hundred and eighteen feet, which is still about a 
thousand feet below the timber-line. A minute after 
emerging from the tunnel's mouth I caught sight of a 
red-shafted flicker which went bolting across the narrow 
valley. The train swept down the valley for some 
miles, stopped long enough to have another engine 
coupled to the one that had brought us down from 
the tunnel, then wheeled to the left and began the 
ascent to the city of Leadville. This city is situated 
on a sloping plain on the mountain side, in full view 
of many bald mountain peaks whose gorges are filled 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 127 

with deep snowdrifts throughout the summer. For 
some purposes Leadville may be an exceedingly desir- 
able city, but it has few attractions for the ornithol- 
ogist. I took a long walk through a part of the city, 
and, whether you will believe it or not, I did not see 
a single bird outside of a cage, not even a house-finch 
or an English sparrow, nor did I see one tree in my 
entire stroll along the busy streets. The caged birds 
seen were a canary and a cardinal, and, oddly enough, 
both of them were singing, mayhap for very home- 
sickness. 

Why should a bird student tarry here ? What was 
there to keep him in a birdless place like this ? I 
decided to leave at once, and so, checking my baggage 
through to Buena Vista, I started afoot down the moun- 
tain side, determined to walk to Malta, a station five 
miles below, observing the birds along the way. Not a 
feathered lilter was seen until I had gone about a mile 
from Leadville, when a disconsolate robin appeared 
among some scraggy pine bushes, not uttering so much 
as a chirp by way of greeting. 

A few minutes later I heard a vigorous and musical 
chirping in the pine bushes, and, turning aside, found a 
flock of small, finch-like birds. They flitted about so 
rapidly that it was impossible to get a good view of 
them with my glasses ; but such glimpses as I obtained 
revealed a prevailing grayish, streaked with some darker 



128 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



color, while a glint of yellow in their wings and tails 
was displayed as the birds flew from bush to bush. 
When the wings were spread, a narrow bar of yellow 
or whitish-yellow seemed to stretch across them length- 
wise, giving them a gauzy appearance. The birds 
remained together in a more or less compact flock. 
They uttered a loud, clear chirp that was almost musi- 
cal, and also piped a quaint trill 
that was almost as low and harsh 
as that of the little clay-colored 
sparrow, although occasionally one 
would lift his voice to a much higher 
pitch. What were these tenants 
of the dry and piney mountain side ? 
They were pine siskins, which 
I had ample opportunity to 
study in my rambles among the 
mountains in 1901. 

A mile farther down, a lone 
mountain bluebird appeared in 
^\ sight, perched on a gray 
stump on the gray hillside, 
x and keeping as silent as if 
it were a crime in bluebird- 
land to utter a sound. This 
bird's breeding range extends 
from the plains to the timber- 




Pine Siskins 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 129 

line ; and he dwells on both sides of the mountains, for 
I met with him at Glenwood. About a half mile above 
Malta a western night-hawk was seen, hurtling in his 
eccentric, zigzag flight overhead, uttering his strident 
call, and "hawking for flies," as White of Selborne 
would phrase it. A western grassfinch flew over to some 
bushes with a morsel in its bill, but I could not discover 
its nest or young, search as I would. Afterwards it 
perched on a telegraph wire and poured out its evening 
voluntary, which was the precise duplicate of the trills 
of the grassflnches of eastern North America. There 
seems to be only a slight difference between the eastern 
and western forms of these birds, so slight, indeed, that 
they can be distinguished only by having the birds in 
hand. 

Turtle doves were also plentiful in the valley above 
Malta, as they were in most suitable localities. Here 
were also several western robins, one of which saluted 
me with a cheerful carol, whose tone and syllabling 
were exactly like those of the merry redbreast of our 
Eastern States. I was delighted to find the sweet- 
voiced white-crowned sparrows tenants of this valley, 
although they were not so abundant here as they had 
been a little over a week before in the hollows below 
the summit of Pike's Peak. But what was the bird 
which was singing so blithely a short distance up the 
slope? He remained hidden until I drew near, when 

9 



130 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

he ran off on the ground like a frightened doe, and was 
soon ensconced in a sage bush. Note his chestnut crest 
and greenish back. This is the green-tailed towhee. 
He is one of the finest vocalists of the Rocky Moun- 
tains, his tones being strong and well modulated, his 
execution almost perfect as to technique, and his entire 
song characterized by a quality that might be defined 
as human expressiveness. 

A pair of western chipping sparrows were feeding 
their young in one of the sage bushes. I hoped to find 
a nest, but my quest simply proved that the bantlings 
had already left their nurseries. It was some satisfac- 
tion, however, to establish the fact at first hand that 
the western chipping sparrows breed at an elevation of 
nine thousand five hundred and eighty feet above sea- 
level. 

While strolling about a short distance above the 
town, I discovered an underground passage leading to 
some of the factories, or perhaps the smelting works, a 
few miles farther up the valley. The overarching ground 
and timbers forming the roof were broken through at 
various places, making convenient openings for the un- 
wary pedestrian to tumble through should he venture 
to stroll about here by night. Suddenly a little broad- 
shouldered bird appeared from some mysterious quarter, 
and flitted silently about from bush to bush or from one 
tussock of grass to another. To my surprise, he pres- 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 131 

ently dropped into one of the openings of the subter- 
ranean passage, disappeared for a few moments, and 
then emerged from another opening a little farther 
away. The bird — let me say at once — was Say's 
phoebe, with which, as previously told, I made acquain- 
tance at Glenwood. He may be recognized by the red- 
dish or cinnamon-brown cast of his abdomen and sides. 
Again and again he darted into the passage, perhaps to 
make sure that his bairns had not been kidnapped, and 
then came up to keep a vigilant eye on his visitor, whom 
he was not wholly disposed to trust. I am not sure that 
there was a nest in the subterranean passage, as my time 
was too short to look for it. Others may not regard it 
as an important ornithological discovery, and I do not 
pretend that it was epoch-making, but to me it was at 
least interesting to find this species, which was new to 
me, dwelling at an elevation of five thousand seven hun- 
dred and fifty -eight feet on the western side of the range, 
and on the eastern side at an elevation of nine thou- 
sand five hundred and eighty feet. Nowhere else in my 
peregrinations among the Rockies did I so much as catch 
a glimpse of Say's phcebe. 1 

With the exception of some swallows circling about 
in the air, I saw no other birds during my brief stay at 

1 In 1901 this bird was seen by me in South Park, and its quaint 
whistle was heard, — it says Phe-by, but its tone and expression are 
different from those of its eastern relative. See the chapter en- 
titled " Pleasant Outings." 



132 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Malta. I was sorely disappointed in not being able to 
find accommodation at this place, for it had been my 
intention to remain here for the night, and walk the 
next day to a station called Granite, some seventeen 
miles farther down the valley, making observations on 
bird life in the region by the way. To this day I re- 
gret that my calculations went " agley " ; but I was told 
that accommodation was not be secured at Malta " for 
love or money,'" and so I shook the dust from my feet, 
and boarded an evening train for ray next stopping- 
place, which was Buena Vista. 

The elevation of this beautiful mountain town is 
seven thousand nine hundred and sixty-seven feet. It 
nestles amid cottonwood trees and green meadows in 
a wide valley or park, and is flanked on the east bv 
the rolling and roaring Arkansas River, while to the 
west the plain slopes up gradually to the foothills of 
the three towering college peaks, — Harvard, Yale, 
and Princeton, — crowned all the year with snow. 
And here were birds in plenty. Before daybreak the 
avian concert began with the shrieking of the western 
wood-pewees — a vocal performance that they, in their 
innocence, seriously mistake for melody — and continued 
until night had again settled on the vale. In this place 
I spent three or four days, giving myself up to my 
favorite study and pastime, and a list of all the birds 
that I saw in the neighborhood would surprise the 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 133 

reader. However, a mere catalogue would be of slight 
interest, I apprehend, and therefore mention will be 
made only of those species which I had not seen else- 
where, passing by such familiar feathered folk as the 
Arkansas goldfinches, catbirds, western meadow-larks, 
Brewer's blackbirds, house-finches, green-tailed towhees, 
magpies, long-crested jays, summer warblers, and many 
others, begging their pardon, of course, for paying them 
such scant courtesy. 

Early on a bright morning I was following one of the 
streets of the village, when, on reaching the suburbs, I 
was greeted by a blithe, dulcet trill which could come 
from no other vocalist than the song-sparrow. His 
tones and vocalization were precisely like those of Melo- 
spizafasciata, to which I have so often listened in my 
native State of Ohio. It was a dulcet strain, and 
stirred memories half sad, half glad, of many a charming 
ramble about my eastern home when the song-sparrows 
were the chief choralists in the outdoor opera festival. 
Peering into the bushes that fringed the gurgling moun- 
tain brook, I soon caught sight of the little triller, and 
found that, so far as I could distinguish them with my 
field-glass, his markings were just like those of his east- 
ern relative — the same mottled breast, with the large 
dusky blotch in the centre. 

Delighted as I was with the bird's aria, I could not 
decide whether this was the common song-sparrow or 



134 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

the mountain song-sparrow. Something over a week 
earlier I had seen what I took to be the mountain song- 
sparrow in a green nook below the summit of Pike's 
Peak, and had noted his trill as a rather shabby per- 
formance in comparison with the tinkling chansons of 
the song-sparrow of the East. Had I mistaken some 
other bird for the mountain song-sparrow ? Or was the 
Buena Vista bird the common song-sparrow which had 
gone entirely beyond its Colorado range ? Consulting 
Professor W. W. Cooke's list of Colorado birds, I found 
that Melospiza fasciata is marked " migratory, rare,' 1 
and has been known thus far only in the extreme 
eastern part of the State ; whereas Melospiza fasciata 
montana is a summer resident, "common throughout 
the State in migration, and not uncommon as a breeder 
from the plains to eight thousand feet. r> 

But Professor Cooke fails to give a clue to the song 
of either variety, and therefore my little problem remains 
unsolved, as I could not think of taking the life of 
a dulcet-voiced bird merely to discover whether it 
should have "montana" affixed to its scientific name 
or not. All I can say is, if this soloist was a moun- 
tain song-sparrow, he reproduced exactly the trills of 
his half-brothers of the East. 1 On the morning of my 

1 The problem has since been solved, through the aid of Mr. 
Aiken. The Buena Vista bird was montana, while the bird in the 
Pike's Peak hollow was Lincoln's sparrow. 



OVER THE DIVIDE AND BACK 135 

departure from Buena Vista another song-sparrow sang 
his matins, in loud, clear tones among the bushes of a 
stream that flowed through the town, ringing quite a 
number of changes in his tune, all of them familiar to 
my ear from long acquaintance with the eastern forms 
of the Melospiza subfamily. 

How well I recall a rainy afternoon during my stay at 
Buena Vista ! The rain was not so much of a downpour 
-as to drive me indoors, although it made rambling in the 
bushes somewhat unpleasant. What was this haunting 
song that rose from a thick copse fringing one of the 
babbling mountain brooks? It mingled sweetly with 
the patter of the rain upon the leaves. Surely it was 
the song of the veery thrush ! The same rich, melodious 
strain, sounding as if it were blown through a wind-harp, 
setting all the strings a-tune at the same time. Too 
long and closely had I studied the veery's minstrelsy in 
his summer haunts in northern Minnesota to be deceived 
now — unless, indeed, this fertile avian region produced 
another thrush which whistled precisely the same tune. 
The bird's alarm-call was also like that of the veery. 
The few glimpses he permitted of his flitting, shadowy 
form convinced me that he must be a veery, and so I 
entered him in my note-book. 

But on looking up the matter — for the bird student 
must aim at accuracy — what was my surprise to find 
that the Colorado ornithologists have decided that the 



136 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



veery thrush is not a resident of the State, nor even an 
occasional visitor ! Of course I could not set up my 
judgment against that of those scientific gentlemen. 
But what could this minstrel be ? I wrote to my friend, 
Mr. Charles E. Aiken, of Colorado Springs, who replied 
that the bird was undoubtedly the willow thrush, which 
is the western representative of the veery. I am willing 
, to abide by this decision, especially as 

Ridgway indicates in his Manual that 
there is very little difference in the 
coloration of the two varieties. One 
more mile-post had been passed in my 
never-ending ornithological journey — I 
had learned for myself and others that 
the willow thrush of the Rockies and 
the veery of our Eastern and 
Middle States have practically 
the same musical repertory, and 
nowhere in the East or the 
West is sweeter and more 
haunting avian minstrelsy to 
be heard, if only it did not 
give one that sad feeling 
which Heine calls Heimzceh! 

Willow Thrush 




A ROCKY MOUNTAIN LAKE 




Plate IV 



Lark Bunting — Calamospiza melanocon/s 
(Upper figure, male ; lower; female) 



A ROCKY MOUNTAIN LAKE 



YOU will find a small lake just about a mile 
from town. Follow the road leading out this 
way " — indicating the direction — " until you 
come to a red gate. The lake 
is private property, but 
you can go right in, as 
you don't shoot. No one 
will drive you out. I 
think you will find it an 
interesting place for bird 
study." 

The foregoing is what 
my landlord told me one 
morning at Buena Vista. 
Nor did I waste time in find- 
ing the way to the lake, a 
small sheet of water, as clear 
as crystal, embowered in the 
lovely park lying between tower- 
ing, snow-clad mountains. One might 
almost call the spot a bird's Arcadia. 







/ 



Brewer's Blackbirds 



"An interesting 
■place for bird 




140 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

In no place, in all my tramping among the Rockies, 
did I find so many birds in an equal area. 

In the green, irrigated meadow bordering one side of 
the sheet of water, I was pleased to find a number of 
Brewer's blackbirds busily gathering food in the wet 
grass for their young. And who or what are Brewer's 
blackbirds ? In the East, the purple and bronzed 
grackles, or crow blackbirds, are found in great abun- 
dance ; but in Colorado these birds are replaced by Brewer's 
blackbirds, which closely resemble their eastern kinsfolk, 
athough not quite so large. The iridescence of the 
plumage is somewhat different in the two species, but 
in both the golden eyeballs show white at a distance. 
When I first saw a couple of Brewer's blackbirds stalking 
featly about on a lawn at Manitou, digging worms and 
grubs out of the sod, I simply put them down in my 
notebook as bronzed or purple grackles — an error that 
had to be corrected afterwards, on more careful exami- 
nation. The mistake shows how close is the resemblance 
between the two species. 

The Brewer division of the family breed on the plains 
and in the mountains, to an altitude of ten thousand 
feet, always selecting marshy places for their early sum- 
mer home ; then in August and September, the breeding 
season over, large flocks of old and young ascend to the 
regions above the timber-line, about thirteen thou- 
sand feet above sea-level, where they swarm over the 



A ROCKY MOUNTAIN LAKE 141 

grassy but treeless mountain sides in search of food. 
In October they retire to the plains, in advance of the 
austere weather of the great altitudes, and soon the 
majority of them hie to a blander climate than Colorado 
affords in winter. 

Still more interesting to me was the large colony of 
yellow-headed blackbirds that had taken up their resi- 
dence in the rushes and flags of the upper end of the 
lake. These birds are not such exclusive westerners as 
their ebon-hued cousins just described ; for I found them 
breeding at Lake Minnetonka, near Minneapolis, Min- 
nesota, a few years ago, and they sometimes straggle, I 
believe, as far east as Ohio. A most beautiful bird is 
this member of the Icteridoe family, a kind of Beau 
Brummel among his fellows, with his glossy black coat 
and rich yellow — and even orange, in highest feather 
— mantle covering the whole head, neck, and breast, 
and a large white, decorative spot on the wings, show- 
ing plainly in flight. He is the handsomest blackbird 
with which I am acquainted. 

At the time of my visit to the lake, the latter part 
of June, the yellow-heads were busy feeding their young, 
many of which had already left the nest. From the 
shore, I could see dozens of them clinging to the reeds, 
several of which they would grasp with the claws of 
each foot, their little legs straddled far apart, the flexile 
rushes spreading out beneath their weight. There the 



142 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



Yellow-Headed 
Blackbirds 



youngsters perched, without seeming to feel any dis- 
comfort from their strained position. And what a 
racket they made when the parent birds returned from 
an excursion to distant meadows and lawns, with bill- 
some tidbits ! They were certainly a hungry lot of 
bairns. When I waded out into the shallow water 
I toward their rushy home, the old birds 
became quite uneasy, circling about above 
me like the red-wings, and uttering 

a harsh blackbird " chack," varied 

r intervals by a loud, and not 
unmusical, chirp. 

You should see the 

nest of the yellow-head. It is 

really a fine structure, showing 

no small amount of artistic skill — 

a plaited cup, looking almost as if it 

had been woven by human 

hands, the rushes of the rim 

F and sides folding the supporting reeds 

in their loops. Thus the nest and its 

reedy pillars are firmly bound together. 

I waded out to a clump of rushes 

and found one nest with three eggs in 

its softly felted cup — the promise, no 

doubt, of a belated, or possibly a second, 

brood. 




There the 
youngsters 
perched " 



A ROCKY MOUNTAIN LAKE 143 

This mountain lake was also the abode of a number 
of species of ducks, not all of which could be identified, 
on account of the distance they constantly put between 
themselves and the observer. Flocks of them floated 
like light, feathered craft upon the silvery bosom of the 
lake, now pursuing one another, now drifting lazily, 
now diving, and anon playing many attractive gambols. 

One of the most curious ducks I have ever seen was 
the ruddy duck, called in the scientific manuals Erisma- 
tura rubida. As I sat on a rock on the shore, watching 
the aquatic fowl, one of the male ruddy ducks, accom- 
panied by three or four females, swam out from the 
reeds into an open space where I could see him plainly 
with my field-glass. A beautiful picture he pre- 
sented, as he glided proudly about on the water, sur- 
rounded by his devoted harem. Imagine, if you can, 
how regal he must have appeared — his broad, flat bill, 
light blue, widening out at the commissure, and seem- 
ing to shade off into the large white cheeks, which 
looked like snowy pufFballs on the sides of his head ; 
his crown, black and tapering ; his neck, back, and sides, 
a rich, glossy brownish-red ; his lower parts, " silky, 
silvery white, ' watered ' with dusky, yielding, gray un- 
dulations " ; and his wing-coverts and jauntily perked- 
up tail, black. If that was not a picture worthy of an 
artist's brush I have never seen one in the outdoor 
world. 



144 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

No less quaint was his conduct. That he was proud 
and self-conscious, no one seeing him could doubt ; and 
it was just as plain from his consequential mien, that he 
was posing before his train of plainly clad wives, who, 
no doubt, looked upon him as the greatest " catch " of 
the lake. Unlike most ducks, in swimming this haughty 
major carries his head erect, and even bent backward at 
a sharp angle ; and his short tail is cocked up and bent 
forward, so that his glossy back forms a graceful half- 
circle or more, and does not slope downward, as do the 
backs of most ducks on the water. 

Of all the odd gestures, this fellow's carried off the 
palm. He would draw his head up and back, then 
thrust it forward a few inches, extend his blue bill in a 
horizontal line, and at the same time emit a low, coarse 
squawk that I could barely hear. Oddly enough, all 
the females, staid as they were, imitated their liege 
lord's deportment. It was their way of protesting 
against my ill-bred intrusion into their demesne. 

Presently a second male came out into the open space, 
accompanied by a retinue of wives, and then a third 
emerged, similarly attended. With this there was a 
challenging among the rivals that was interesting to 
witness ; they fairly strutted about on the water, now 
advancing, now retreating, and occasionally almost, but 
never quite, closing in combat. Sometimes one would 
pursue another for a rod or more, in a swift rush that 



A ROCKY MOUNTAIN LAKE 145 

would make the spray fly and cut a swath on the smooth 
bosom of the lake. 

Several coots now appeared on the scene. Between 
them and the ruddy ducks there seemed to be a feud of 
more or less intensity, each being on the offensive or the 
defensive as the exigencies of naval warfare demanded. 
Once I was moved to laughter as a coot made a fierce 
dash toward one of the ducks, and was almost upon her, 
and I thought she was destined to receive a severe 
trouncing, when she suddenly dodged her pursuer by 
diving. He just as suddenly gave up the chase, looking 
as if it were a case of " sour grapes," anyway. 

After watching the antics of these birds for a long 
time, I turned my attention to another pretty scene, — 
a pair of coots leading their family of eight or ten little 
ones out into the clear area from their hiding-place 
among the reeds, presenting a picture of unruffled do- 
mestic bliss. How sweet and innocent the little coots 
were ! Instead of the black heads and necks of their 
parents, and the white bills and frontal bones, these 
parts were tinted with red, which appeared quite bright 
and gauze-like in the sunshine. 

The process of feeding the juvenile birds was interest- 
ing. The parents would swim about, then suddenly dip 
their heads into the water, or else dive clear under, 
coming up with slugs in their bills. Turning to the 
youngsters, which were always close upon their heels — 

10 



146 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 




or perhaps I would better say their tails — they would 
hold out their bills, when the little ones would swim up 
and pick off the toothsome morsel. It must not be 
supposed that the bantlings opened their mouths, as 
most young birds do, to receive the tidbits. No, indeed ! 
That is not coot vogue. The little ones picked the 
insects from the sides of the papa's or mamma's beak, 
turning their own little heads cunningly to one side as 
they helped themselves to their luncheon. 

The other waterfowl of the lake acted in an ordinary 
way, and therefore need no description. It was strange, 
however, that this was the only lake seen in all my 
Rocky Mountain touring where I found water- 
fowl. At Seven Lakes, Moraine Lake, and others in 
the vicinity of Pike's Peak, not a duck, crane, or coot 
was to be seen ; and the same was true of Cottonwood 
Lake, twelve miles from Buena Vista, right in the 
heart of the rugged mountains. 

Two facts may account for the abundance of birds 
at the little lake near Buena Vista ; first, here they were 
protected from gunners and pot hunters by the owner, 
whose residence commanded a full view of the whole 
area ; and, second, large spaces of the upper end of the 
lake was thickly grown with flags and rushes, which 
were cut off from the shore by a water v space of con- 
siderable breadth. In this place these birds found 
coverts from enemies and suitable sites for their nests. 



"From their 
place among 
the reeds " 




A BIRD MISCELLANY 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 

IT shall be my purpose in this chapter to describe 
with more or less fulness a number of Rocky 
Mountain birds which have either not been men- 
tioned in previous chapters or have received only casual 
attention. 

On reaching Colorado one is surprised to find none 
of our common blue jays which are so abundant in the 
Eastern and Middle States. In my numerous Rocky 
Mountain jaunts not one was seen. Yet this region 
does not need to go begging for jays, only they belong 
to different groups of the Garrulince sub-family. The 
most abundant and conspicuous of these western forms 
are the long-crested jays, so called on account of the 
long tuft of black feathers adorning the occiput. This 
distinguishing mark is not like the firm pyramidal crest 
of the eastern jay, but is longer and narrower, and so 
flexible that it sways back and forth as the bird flits 
from branch to branch or takes a hop-skip-and-jump 
over the ground. Its owner can raise and lower it at 
will. 

The forehead of this jay is prettily sprinkled with 
white ; his head and neck are black, in decided contrast 

149 



150 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

with the umber-brown of the back ; his rump and belly 
are pale blue, and his wings and tail are rich indigo- 
blue, somewhat iridescent and widely barred with black. 
Thus it will be seen that he has quite a different cos- 
tume from that of our eastern jay, with his gaudy trim- 
mings of white and black and purplish blue. The 
westerner cannot boast of cristatcCs dressy black collar, 
but otherwise he is more richly attired, although he 
may not be quite so showy. 

The long-crested jays have a wide range among the 
mountains, breeding from the base of the foothills to 
the timber-line, although their nests are not commonly 
found below an altitude of seven thousand feet. In 
many places from nine to eleven thousand feet up the 
acclivities of the mountains they were seen flitting 
among the pines or the quaking asps. Like their east- 
ern relatives, some individuals seem to prefer the society 
of man, dwelling in the villages or in the vicinity of 
country homes, while others choose the most secluded 
and solitary localities for their habitat. The fact is, I 
rarely made an excursion anywhere without sooner or 
later discovering that these jays had pre-empted the 
place for feeding or breeding purposes, sometimes with 
loud objurgations bidding me be gone, and at other 
times making no to-do whatever over my intrusion. 
Perhaps the proximity or remoteness of their nests was 
the chief cause of this variableness in their behavior. 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 151 

A pretty picture is one of these jays mounting from 
branch to branch around the stem of a pine tree, from 
the lower limbs to the top, as if he were ascending a 
spiral staircase. This seems to be one of their regula- 
tion habits when they find themselves under inspection. 
If you intrude on their domestic precincts, their cry is 
quite harsh, and bears no resemblance to the quaint 
calls of the eastern jays ; nor does the plaintive note of 
the eastern representative, so frequently heard in the 
autumnal woods, ever issue from any of the numerous 
jay throats of the West. 

Far be it from me to blacken the reputation of any 
bird, but there is at least circumstantial evidence that 
the long-crested jay, like his eastern cousin, is a nest 
robber ; for such birds as robins, tanagers, flycatchers, 
and vireos make war upon him whenever he comes 
within their breeding districts, and this would indicate 
that they are only too well aware of his predatory 
habits. More than that, he has the sly and stealthy 
manners of the sneak-thief and the brigand. Of course, 
he is by no means an unmixed evil, for you will often 
see him leaping about on the lawns, capturing beetles 
and worms which would surely be injurious to vegeta- 
tion if allowed to live and multiply. 

There are other jays in the Rockies that deserve 
attention. The Rocky Mountain jay — Perisoneus can- 
adensis capitalis — is a bird of the higher altitudes, re- 



152 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



maining near the timber-line all the year round, braving 
the most rigorous weather and the fiercest mountain 
storms during the winter. Although not an attractive 
species, his hardiness invests him with not a little in- 
terest. One can imagine him seeking a covert in the 
dense pineries when a storm sweeps down from the bald, 



snow-mantled 
approval of 
yet able to 




summits, squawking his dis- 
the ferocity of old Boreas, and 
resist his most violent onsets. 
Early in April, at an alti- 
tude of from eight thousand 
to eleven thousand five hun- 
dred feet, these jays begin to 
breed. At that height this 
is long before the snow 
ceases to fall ; indeed, on 
the twentieth of June, 
while making the descent 
from Pike's Peak, I was 
caught in a snowfall that 
gave the ground quite 
a frosty aspect for a 
few minutes. One can 
readily fancy, therefore, 
that the nests of these 
birds are often sur- 
rounded with snow. 



The Rocky Mountain Jay 



Seeking a covert in the dense 'pineries 

when a storm sweeps down 

from the mountains " 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 153 

and that the bantlings may get their first view of the 
world in the swirl of a snow-squall. The nests are built 
in pine bushes and trees at various distances from the 
ground. Of all the hurly-burlies ever heard, that which 
these birds are able to make when you go near their 
nests, or discover them, bears off the palm, their voices 
being as raucous as a buzz-saw, fairly setting your teeth 
on edge. 

Those of us who live in the East are so accustomed 
to the adjective " blue' 1 in connection with the jay that 
we are surprised to find that P. c. capitalis wears no 
blue whatever, but dons a sombre suit of leaden gray, 
somewhat relieved by the blackish shade of the wings 
and tail, with their silvery or frosted lustre. He is cer- 
tainly not an attractive bird, either in dress or in form, 
for he appears very " thick-headed " and lumpish, as if 
he scarcely knew enough to seek shelter in a time of 
storm ; but, of course, a bird that contrives to coax a 
livelihood out of such unpromising surroundings must 
possess a fine degree of intelligence, and, therefore, can- 
not be so much of a dullard as his appearance would 
indicate. 

He has some interesting ways, too, as will be seen 
from the following quotation from a Colorado writer: 
" White-headed, grave, and sedate, he seems a very 
paragon of propriety, and if you appear to be a suit- 
able personage, he will be apt to give you a bit of ad- 



154 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

vice. Becoming confidential, he sputters out a lot of 
nonsense which causes you to think him a veritable 
' whiskey Jack.' Yet, whenever he is disposed, a more 
bland, mind-your-own-business appearing bird will be 
hard to find; as will also many small articles around 
camp after one of his visits, for his whimsical brain has 
a great fancy for anything which may be valuable to 
you, but perfectly useless to himself. 1 ' This habit of 
purloining has won him the title of " camp robber " 
among the people of the Rocky Mountains. 

Woodhouse's jay, also peculiar to the Rocky Moun- 
tain region, is mostly to be found along the base of the 
foothills and the lower wooded mountains. While he 
may be called a "blue" jay, having more of that color 
in his plumage than even the long-crested, he belongs 
to the Aphelcoma group — that is, he is without a crest. 

Every observer of eastern feathered folk is familiar 
with our " little boy blue," the indigo-bird, whose song 
is such a rollicking and saucy air, making you feel as if 
the little lyrist were chaffing you. In Colorado, how- 
ever, you do not meet this animated chunk of blue, but 
another little bird that belongs to the same group, 
called the " painted finches," although their plumes are 
not painted any more than those of other species. This 
bird is the lazuli bunting. He wears a great deal of blue, 
but it is azure, and not indigo, covering the head, neck, 
most of the upper parts, and the lining of the wings ; 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 155 

and, as if to give variety to the bird's attire, the nape and 
back are prettily shaded with brown, and the wings 
and tail with black. But his plumage is still more 
variegated, for he bears a conspicuous white spot on 
the greater wing-coverts, and his breast is daintily tinted 
with chestnut-brown, abruptly cut off from the blue of 
the throat, while the remaining under parts are snowy 
white. From this description it will be seen that he is 
quite unlike the indigo-bird, which has no brown or 
white in his cerulean attire. Handsome as Master 
Indigo is, the lazuli finch, with his sextet of hues, is a 
more showily dressed bird ; in fact, a lyric in colors. 

The habits of the two birds are quite similar. How- 
ever, the lazuli seemed to be much shyer than his rela- 
tive, for the latter is a familiar figure at the border of 
our eastern woodlands, about our country homes, and 
even in the neighborhood of our town dwellings, when 
there are bushes and trees close at hand. My saunter- 
ings among the mountains took me into the haunts of 
the lazulis, but I regret to have to confess that all my 
alertness was of so little avail that I saw only three 
males and one female. One day, while rambling among 
the cotton woods that broidered the creek flowing south 
of Colorado Springs, I was brought to a standstill by a 
sharp chirp, and the next moment a pair of lazulis 
appeared on the lower branches and twigs of a tree. 
There they sat quiet enough, watching me keenly, 



156 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

but allowing me to peer at them at will with my field- 
glass. I could not understand why birds that otherwise 
were so shy should now permit a prolonged inspection 
and manifest so little anxiety; but perhaps they rea- 
soned that they had been discovered anyway, and there 
was no need of pretending that no lazulis dwelt in the 
neighborhood. How elegant the little husband looked 
in his variegated attire ! The wife was soberly clad in 
warm brown, slightly streaked with dusk, but she was 
trig and pretty and worthy of her more richly apparelled 
spouse. In the bushes below I found a well-made nest, 
which I felt morally certain belonged to the little couple 
that was keeping such faithful surveillance over it. As 
yet it contained no eggs. 

In order to make certainty doubly sure, I visited the 
place a week or so later, and found that my previous con- 
clusion had been correct. I flushed the little madame 
from the nest, and saw her flit with a chirp to the twigs 
above, where she sat quietly watching her visitor, ex- 
hibiting no uneasiness whatever about her cot in the 
bushes with its three precious eggs. It was pleasing to 
note the calmness and dignity with which she regarded 
me. But where was that important personage, the little 
husband ? He was nowhere to be seen, although I 
lingered about the charmed spot for over two hours, 
hoping to get at least a glimpse of him. A friend, who 
understands the sly ways of the lazulis, suggested that 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 157 

very likely the male was watching me narrowly all the 
while from a safe hiding-place in the dense foliage of 
some tree not far away. 

My friend told me that I would not be able to dis- 
tinguish the song of the lazuli from those of the summer 
and mountain warblers. We shall see whether he was 
right. One evening I was searching for a couple of blue 
grosbeaks at the border of Colorado Springs, where I 
had previously seen them, when a loud, somewhat per- 
cussive song, much like the summer warbler's, burst on 
my ear, coming from a clump of willow bushes hard by 
the stream. At once I said to myself, " That is not the 
summer warbler's trill. It resembles the challenging 
song of the indigo-bird, only it is not quite so loud and 
defiant. A lazuli finch's song, or I am sadly astray ! 
Let me settle the question now. 11 

I did settle it to my great satisfaction, for, after no 
little effort, I succeeded in obtaining a plain view of the 
elusive little lyrist, and, sure enough, it proved to be 
the lazuli finch. Metaphorically I patted myself with 
a great deal of self-complacency, as I muttered : " The 
idea of Mr. Aiken's thinking I had so little discrimina- 
tion ! I know that hereafter I shall be able to detect 
the lazuli's peculiar intonations every time." So I 
walked home in a very self-confident frame of mind. 
A few days later I heard another song lilting down 
from the upper branches of a small tree. " Surely that 



158 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

is the lazuli again,'" I muttered. " I know that voice.'" 
For a while I eyed the tree, and presently caught sight 
of the little triller, and behold, it was — a summer 
warbler i All my self-complacency vanished in a 
moment; I wasn't cock-sure of anything; and I am 
obliged to confess that I was led astray in a similar 
manner more than once afterward. It may indicate an 
odd psychological condition to make the claim ; but, 
absurd or not, I am disposed to believe that, whenever 
I really heard the lazuli, I was able to recognize his 
song with a fair degree of certainty, but when I heard 
the summer warbler I was thrown into more or less con- 
fusion, not being quite sure whether it was that bird or 
the other. 

The most satisfactory lazuli song I heard was on the 
western side of the range, at the resort called Glenwood. 
This time, as was usually the case, I heard the little 
triller before seeing him, and was sure it was Passerina 
amoena, as the bunting strains were plainly discern- 
ible. He was sitting on a telephone wire, and did not 
flit away as I stood below and peered at him through 
my glass, and admired his trig and handsome form. I 
studied his song, and tried to fix the peculiar intona- 
tions in my mind, and felt positive that I could never be 
caught again — but I was. * 

1 In the foregoing remarks the lazuli finches have been repre- 
sented as excessively shy. So they were in 1899 in the neighbor- 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 159 

The lazuli finch does not venture very high into the 
mountains, seldom reaching an altitude of more than 
seven thousand feet. He is a lover of the plains, the 
foothills, and the lower ranges of the mountains. In 
this respect he differs from some other little birds, 
which seek a summer home in the higher regions. On 
the southern slope of Pike's Peak, a little below the 
timber-line, I found a dainty little bird which was a 
stranger to me. It was Audubon's warbler. At first 
sight I decided that he must be the myrtle warbler, but 
was compelled to change my conclusion when I got a 
glimpse of his throat, which was golden yellow, whereas 
the throat of Dendroica coronata is pure white. Then, 
too, the myrtle warbler is only a migrant in Colorado, 
passing farther north to breed. Audubon's, it must be 
said, has extremely rich habiliments, his upper parts 
being bluish-ash, streaked with black, his belly and 
under tail-coverts white, and his breast in high feather, 
black, prettily skirted with gray or invaded with white 
from below ; but his yellow spots, set like gleaming gold 
in various parts of his plumage, constitute his most 
marked embellishment, being found on the crown, rump, 
throat, and each side of the chest. 

hoods then visited. Strangely enough, in the vicinity of Denver 
in 1901, these birds were abundant and as easily approached and 
studied as are the indigoes of the East. See the chapter entitled, 
il Plains and Foothills." 



160 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

On my first excursion to some meadows and wooded 
low-grounds south of Colorado Springs, while listening 
to a concert given by western meadow-larks, my atten- 
tion was attracted to a large, black bird circling about 
the fields and then alighting on a fence-post. My first 
thought was : " It is only a crow blackbird." 1 '' But on 
second thought I decided that the crow blackbird did 
not soar and circle about in this manner. At all events, 
there seemed to be something slightly peculiar about 
this bird's behavior, so I went nearer to inspect him, 
when he left his perch on the post, flapped around 
over the meadow, and finally flew to a large, partially 
decayed cottonwood tree in a pasture field. If I could 
believe my eyes, he clung to the upright stems of 
the branches after the style of a woodpecker ! That 
was queer indeed — a woodpecker that looked precisely 
like a blackbird ! Such a featherland oddity Mas 
certainly foreign to any of my calculations ; for, it 
must be remembered, this was prior to my making 
acquaintance with Williamson's sapsucker. 

Closer inspection proved that this bird was actually 
hitching up and down the branches of the tree in the 
regular woodpecker fashion. Presently he slipped into 
a hole in a large limb, and the loud, eager chirping 
of young birds was heard. It was not long before 
his mate appeared, entered the cavity, and fed the 
clamorous brood. The birds proved to be Lewis's 



A BIRD MISCELLANY .161 

woodpeckers, another distinctly western type. My 
field-glass soon clearly brought out their peculiar 
markings. 

A beautiful bird-skin, bought of Mr. Charles E. 
Aiken, now lies on my desk and enables me to describe 
the fine habiliments of this kind from an actual speci- 
men. His upper parts are glossy black, the sheen on 
the back being greenish, and that on the wings and tail 
bluish or purplish, according to the angle of the sun's 
light ; a white collar prettily encircles the neck, becom- 
ing quite narrow on the nape, but widening out on the 
side so as to cover the entire breast and throat. This 
pectoral shield is mottled with black and lightly stained 
with buff in spots ; the forehead, chin, superciliary line, 
and a broad space on the cheek are dyed a deep crim- 
son ; and, not least by any means, the abdomen is 
washed with pink, which is delicately stencilled with 
white, gray, and buff. A most gorgeous bird, fairly 
rivalling, but not distancing, Williamson's sapsucker. 

By accident I made a little discovery relative to the 
claws of this woodpecker which, I suppose, would be 
true of all the Picidce family. The claws of the two 
fore toes are sharply curved and extremely acute, making 
genuine hooks, so that when I attempt to pass my finger 
over them the points catch at the skin. Could a better 
hook be contrived for enabling the bird to clamber up 
the trunks and branches of trees ? But note : the claws 

11 



162 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

of the two hind toes are not so sharply decurved, nor so 
acute at the points, the finger slipping readily over them. 
Who can deny the evidence of design in nature ? The 
fore claws are highly specialized for clinging, the very 
purpose for which they are needed, while the hind claws, 
being used for a different purpose — only that of sup- 
port — are moulded over a different pattern. 

Like our common red-head, this bird has the habit 
of soaring out into the air and nabbing insects on the 
wing. The only other pair of these woodpeckers I was 
so fortunate as to meet with were found in the ravine 
leading up from Buena Vista to Cottonwood Lake. 1 
Their nest was in a dead tree by the roadside. While 
the first couple had been entirely silent, one of the 
second pair chirped somewhat uneasily when I lingered 
beneath his tree, suspecting, no doubt, that I had 
sinister designs upon his nest. Unlike some of their 
kinsmen, these pickers of wood seem to be quiet and 
dignified, not given to much demonstration, and are 
quite leisurely in their movements both on the branch 
and on the wing. 

One day, when walking up Ute Pass, celebrated both 
for its magnificent scenery and its Indian history, I first 

1 Two years later a pair were seen on a mountain near Golden, 
Colorado, and probably twenty individuals were watched a long time 
from a canon above Boulder as they circled gracefully over the 
mountains, catching insects on the wing. 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 163 

saw the water-ousel. I had been inspecting Rainbow 
Falls, and was duly impressed with its attractiveness. 
Thinking I had lingered long enough, I turned away 
and clambered up the rocky wall below the falls towards 
the road above. As I did so, a loud, bell-like song rang 
above the roar of the water. On looking down into the 
ravine, I saw a mouse-colored bird, a little smaller than 
the robin, his tail perked up almost vertically, scuttling 
about on the rocks below and dipping his body in an 
expressive way like the " tip-up " sandpiper. Having 
read about this bird, I at once recognized it as the 
water-ousel. My interest in everything else vanished. 
This was one of the birds I had made my pilgrimage to 
the Rockies t*> study. It required only a few minutes 
to scramble down into the ravine again. 

Breathlessly I watched the little bird. Its queer 
teetering is like that of some of the wrens, accentors, 
and water-thrushes. Now it ran to the top of a rock 
and stood dipping and eying me narrowly, flirting its 
bobby tail ; now it flew to one of the steep, almost ver- 
tical walls of rock and scrambled up to a protuberance ; 
then down again to the water ; then, to my intense 
delight, it plunged into the limpid stream, and came up 
the next moment with a slug or water- beetle in its bill. 
Presently it flew over to the opposite wall, its feet slip- 
ping on the wet rocks, and darted into a small crevice 
just below the foot of the falls, gave a quick poke with 



RAINBOW FALLS 

When the sun strikes the spray and mist at the proper 
angle, a beautiful rainbow is painted on the face of the 
falls. At the time of the authors visit to this idyllic 
spot a pair of water-ousels had chosen it for a summer resi- 
dence. They few from the rocks below to the top of the 
falls, hugging close to the rushing torrent. In returning, they 
darted in one swift plunge from the top to the bottom, alighting 
on the rocks below. With the utmost abandon they dived into 
the seething waters at the foot of the falls, usually emerging with 
a slug or beetle in their bills for the nestlings. Shod with tall 
rubber boots, the writer waded close up to the foot of the falls 
in search of the dipper s nest, which was set in a cleft of the 
rocks a few inches above the water, in the Utile shadowed cavern 
at the left of the stream. The pointed rock wrapped in mist, 
almost in the line of the plunging tide, was a favorite perch 
for the dippers. 






166 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

its beak and flitted away — minus the tidbit it had held 
in its bill. 

Ah ! my propitious stars shone on me that day with 
special favor. I had found not only the water-ousel 
itself, but also its nest. Suddenly water-ousel number 
two, the mate of number one, appeared on the scene, 
dipped, scanned me closely, flew to the slippery wall, 
darted to the cranny, and deposited its morsel, as its 
spouse had done. This time I heard the chirping of 
the youngsters. Before examining the nest I decided 
to watch the performances of the parent birds, which 
soon cast off all the restraint caused for a moment by 
my presence, taking me, no doubt, for the ordinary 
sightseer who overlooks them altogether. 

Again and again the birds plunged into the churning 
flood at the foot of the falls, sometimes remaining under 
water what seemed a long while, and always coming to 
the surface with a delicacy for the nestlings. They 
were able to dip into the swift, white currents and 
wrestle with them without being washed away. Of 
course, the water would sometimes carry them down 
stream, but never more than a few inches, and never to 
a point where they could be injured. They were per- 
fect masters of the situation. They simply slipped in 
and out like living chunks of cork. Their coats were 
waterproof, all they needed to do being to shake off the 
crystal drops now and then. 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 



167 



Their flight up the almost perpendicular 
face of the falls was one of graceful celerity. 
Up, up, thev would mount only a few inches 
from the dashing current, and disappear up- 
stream in search of food. In returning, they 
would sweep down over the precipitous falls 
with the swiftness of arrows, stopping them- 
selves lightly with their outspread wings 
before reaching the rocks below. From 
a human point of view it was a frightful 
plunge ; from the ousel point of 
view it was an every -day affair. 

After watching the tussle be* 
tween ousel and water for a long 
time, I decided to take a peep at 
their nursery. In order to do this 
I was compelled to wade into the 
stream a little below the falls, 
through mist and spray ; yet 
such humid quarters were the 
natural habitat and play- 
ground of these interesting 
cinclids. And there the nest 
was, set in a cleft about a foot and a half above 
the water, its outer walls kept moist by the spray 

which constantly dashed against them from the falls. " Up, up, only 

a few inches j 
the dashing current 




Water-Ousel 



The water was also dripping from the rock that over- afew inches f rom 



168 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

hung the nest and formed its roof. A damp, uncanny 
place for a bird's domicile, you would naturally suppose, 
but the little lovers of cascades knew what they were 
about. Only the exterior of the thick, moss-covered 
walls were moist. Within, the nest was dry and cosey. 
It was an oval structure, set in its rocky cleft like a small 
oven, with an opening at the front. And there in the 
doorway cuddled the two fledglings, looking out at the 
dripping walls and the watery tumult, but kept warm 
and comfortable. I could not resist touching them and 
caressing their little heads, considering it quite an orni- 
thological triumph for one day to find a pair of water- 
ousels, discover a nest, and place my finger upon the 
crowns of the nestlings. 

Scores of tourists visited the famous falls every day, 
some of them lingering long in the beautiful place, and 
yet the little ousels had gone on with their nest-building 
and brood-rearing, undisturbed by human spectators. 
I wondered whether many of the visitors noticed the 
birds, and whether any one but myself had discovered 
their nest. Indeed, their little ones were safe enough 
from human meddling, for one could not see the nest 
without wading up the stream into the sphere of the 
flying mists. 

The natural home of Cinclus mexicanus is the Rocky 
Mountains, to which he is restricted, not being known 
anywhere else on this continent. He is the only mem- 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 169 

ber of the dipper family in North America. There is one 
species in South America, and another in Europe. He 
loves the mountain stream, with its dashing rapids and 
cascades. Indeed, he will erect his oven-like cottage 
nowhere else, and it must be a fall and not a mere ripple 
or rapid. Then from this point as a centre — or, rather, 
the middle point of a wavering line — he forages up and 
down the babbling, meandering brook, feeding chiefly, 
if not wholly, on water insects. Strange to say, he never 
leaves the streams, never makes excursions to the 
country roundabout, never flies over a mountain ridge 
or divide to reach another valley, but simply pursues 
the winding streams with a fidelity that deserves praise 
for its very singleness of purpose. No " landlubber " he. 
It is said by one writer that the dipper has never been 
known to alight on a tree, preferring a rock or a piece 
of driftwood beside the babbling stream ; yet he has the 
digits and claws of the passeres, among which he is 
placed systematically. He is indeed an anomaly, though 
a very engaging one. Should he wish to go to another 
canon, he will simply follow the devious stream he is on 
to its junction with the stream of the other valley ; then 
up the second defile. His flight is exceedingly swift. 
His song is a loud, clear, cheerful strain, the very quin- 
tessence of gladness as it mingles with the roar of the 
cataracts. 

Farther up Ute Pass I found another nest, which was 



170 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

placed right back of a cascade, so that the birds had to 
dash through a curtain of spray to reach their cot. 
They also were feeding their young, and I could see 
them standing on a rock beneath the shelf, tilting their 
bodies and scanning me narrowly before diving into the 
cleft where the nest was hidden. This nest, being placed 
back of the falls, could not be reached. 

In Bear Creek canon I discovered another inaccessible 
nest, which was placed in a fissure at the very foot of 
the falls and only an inch or two above the agitated 
waters. There must have been a cavity running back 
into the rock, else the nest would have been kept in a 
soggy condition all the time. 

Perhaps the most interesting dipper's nest I found 
was one at the celebrated Seven Falls in the south 
Cheyenne Canon. On the face of the cliff by the side 
of the lowest fall there was a cleft, in which the nest 
was placed, looking like a large bunch of moss and grass. 
My glass brought the structure so near that I could 
plainly see three little heads protruding from the door- 
way. There were a dozen or more people about the 
falls at the time, who made no attempt at being quiet, 
and yet the parent birds flew fearlessly up to the nest 
with tidbits in their bills, and were greeted with loud, 
impatient cries from three hungry mouths, which were 
opened wide to receive the food. The total plunge of 
the stream over the Seven Falls is hundreds of feet, and 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 



171 



yet the adult birds would toss themselves over the abyss 
with reckless abandon, stop themselves without apparent 
effort in front of their cleft, and thrust the gathered 
morsels into the little yellow-lined mouths. It was an 
aerial feat that made our heads dizzy. This pair of 
birds did not fly up the face of the falls in ascending to 
the top, as did those at Rainbow Falls, but 
clambered up the wall of the cliff close 
to the side of the roaring cataract, 
aiding themselves with both claws 
and wings. When gathering food 
below the falls, they would usually, 
in going or returning, fly in a grace- 
ful curve over the heads of their 
human visitors. 

Although the dipper is not a web- 
footed bird, and is not classed by the 
naturalists among the aquatic fowl, 
but is, indeed, a genuine passerine, 
yet he can swim quite dexterously 
on the surface of the water. 
However, his greatest strength 
and skill are shown in swimming 
under water, where he propels him- 
self with his wings, often to a con- 
siderable distance, either with or 
against the current. Sometimes he 



Three hungry 
mouths, which 
were opened wide 
to receive the food " 




< 



Water-Ousel 



172 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

will allow the current to carry him a short distance 
down the stream, but he is always able to stop himself 
at a chosen point. " Ever and anon, 1 ' says Mr. John 
Muir, in his attractive book on "The Mountains of 
California," "while searching for food in the rushing 
stream, he sidles out to where the too powerful current 
carries him off his feet; then he dexterously rises on 
the wing and goes gleaning again in shallower places. 1 '' 
So it seems that our little acrobat is equal to every 
emergency that may arise in his adventurous life. 

In winter, when the rushing mountain streams are 
flowing with the sludge of the half-melted snow, so that 
he cannot see the bottom, where most of his delicacies 
lie, he betakes himself to the quieter stretches of the 
rivers, or to the mill ponds or mountain lakes, where he 
finds clearer and smoother water, although a little 
deeper than he usually selects. Such weather does not 
find him at the end of his resources ; no, indeed ! Hav- 
ing betaken himself to a lake, he does not at once plunge 
into its depths after the manner of a duck, but finding 
a perch on a snag or a fallen pine, he sits there a mo- 
ment, and then, flying out thirty or forty yards, " he 
alights with a dainty glint on the surface, swims about, 
looks down, finally makes up his mind, and disappears 
with a sharp stroke of his wings." So says Mr. John 
Muir, who continues : " After feeding for two or three 
minutes he suddenly reappears, showers the water from 



A BIRD MISCELLANY 173 

his wings with one vigorous shake, and rises abruptly 
into the air as if pushed up from beneath, comes back 
to his perch, sings a few minutes, and goes out to dive 
again ; thus coming and going, singing and diving, at 
the same place for hours."' 1 

The depths to which the cinclid dives for the food 
on the bottom is often from fifteen to twenty feet. 
When he selects a river instead of a lake for his winter 
bathing, its waters, like those of the shallower streams, 
may also contain a large quantity of sludge, thus 
rendering them opaque even to the sharp little eyes of 
the dipper. Then what does he do ? He has a very 
natural and cunning way of solving this problem ; he 
simply seeks a deep portion of the river and dives 
through the turbid water to the clear water beneath, 
where he can plainly see the " goodies "" on the bottom. 

It must not be thought that this little bird is mute 
amid all the watery tumult of his mountain home, for 
he is a rare vocalist, his song mingling with the ripple 
and gurgle and roar of the streams that he haunts. 
Nor does he sing only in the springtime, but all the 
year round, on stormy days as well as fair. During 
Indian summer, when the streams are small, and silence 
broods over many a mountain solitude, the song of the 
ousel falls to its lowest ebb; but when winter comes 
and the streams are converted into rolling torrents, he 
resumes his vocal efforts, which reach their height in 



174 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



early summer. Thus it would seem that the bird's 
mood is the gayest when his favorite stream is dashing 
at its noisiest and most rapid pace down the steep 
mountain defiles. The clamor of the stream often 
drowns the song of the bird, the movement of his 
mandibles being seen when not a sound from his music- 
box can be heard. There must be a feeling of fellow- 
ship between the bird and the stream he loves so well. 
You will not be surprised to learn that the dipper 
is an extremely hardy bird. No snowstorm, however 
violent, can discourage him, but in the midst of it all 
he sings his most cheerful lays, as if defying all the gods 
of the winds. While other birds, even the hardy nut- 
hatches, often succumb to discouragement in cold wea- 
ther, and move about with fluffed-up feathers, the very 
picture of dejection — not so the little dipper, who al- 
ways preserves his cheerful temper, and is ready to say, 
in acts, if not in words : " Is n't this the j oiliest 
weather you ever saw ? " Awav up in Alaska, 
where the glaciers hold perpetual swav, 
^^ this bird has been seen in the month 

^H. .-* of November as glad and blithesome 

as were his comrades in the summery 
gorges of New Mexico. 

/ 



pv' J-jf 




No snowstorm can discourage him " 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 




Plate V 



Louisiana Tanager — Pyranga ludoviciana 

(Upper figure, male; lower, female) 



T 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 

HE foregoing chapters contain a recital of ob- 
servations made in the neighborhood of Colo- 
rado Springs and in trips on the plains and 
among the mountains in that latitude. Two years later 
— that is, in 1901 — the rambler's good angel again 
smiled upon him and made possible another tour among 
the Colorado mountains. This time he made Denver, 
instead of Colorado Springs, the centre of operations ; 
nor did he go alone, his companion being an active boy 
of fourteen who has a penchant for Butterflies, while 
that of the writer, as need scarcely be said, is for the 
Birds — in our estimation, the two cardinal B's of the 
English language. Imagine two inveterate ramblers, 
then, with two such enchanting hobbies, set loose on the 
Colorado plains and in the mountains, with the prospect 
of a month of uninterrupted indulgence in their manias ! 
In the account of my first visit, most of the species 
met with were described in detail both as to their habits 
and personal appearance. In the present record no 
such minutiae will be necessary so far as the same species 
were observed, and therefore the chief objects of the 
12 177 



178 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

following chapters will be, first, to note the diversities 
in the avian fauna of the two regions ; second, to give 
special attention to such birds as either were not seen 
in my first visit or were for some cause partly overlooked ; 
and, third, to trace the peculiar transitions in bird life 
in passing from the plains about Denver to the crest of 
Gray's Peak, including jaunts to several other localities. 

In my rambles in the neighborhood of Denver only a 
few species not previously described were observed, and 
yet there were some noteworthy points of difference in 
the avi-fauna of the two latitudes, which are only about 
seventy-five miles apart. It will perhaps be remembered 
that, in the vicinity of Colorado Springs and Manitou, 
the pretty lazuli buntings were quite rare and exceed- 
ingly shy, only two or three individuals having been seen. 
The reverse was the case in the suburbs of Denver and 
on the irrigated plains between that city and the moun- 
tains, and also in the neighborhood of Boulder, where 
in all suitable haunts the lazulis were constantly at my 
elbow, lavish enough of their pert little melodies to 
satisfy the most exacting, and almost as familiar and 
approachable as the indigo-birds of the East. It is pos- 
sible that, for the most part, the blue-coated beauties 
prefer a more northern latitude than Colorado Springs 
for the breeding season. 

At the latter place I failed to find the burrowing owl, 
although there can be little doubt of his presence there, 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 179 

especially out on the plains. Not far from Denver one 
of these uncanny, sepulchral birds was seen, having been 
frightened from her tunnel as I came stalking near it. 
She flew over the brow of the hill in her smooth, silent 




way, and uttered no syl- " The dark 



lable of protest as I examined 
her domicile — or, rather, the 
outside of it. Scattered about 
the dark doorway were a number of bones, feathers, 
and the skin of a frog, telling the story of the table 
d'hote set by this underground dweller before her nest- 
lings. She might have put up the crossbones and 
skull as a sign at the entrance to her burrow, or even 
placed there the well-known Dantean legend, " All hope 
abandon, ye who enter here," neither of which would 
have been more suggestive than the telltale litter piled 
up before her door. When I chased her from her 
hiding-place, she flew down the hill and alighted on a 
fence-post in the neighborhood of her nest, uttering 
several screechy notes as I came near her again, as if she 



doorway " 



180 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

meant to say that I was carrying the joke a little too 
far in pursuing her about. Presently she circled away 
on oily wings, and I saw her no more. 

So little enthusiasm does such a bird stir within me 
that I felt too lazy to follow her about on the arid 
plain. It may be interesting as a matter of scientific 
information to know that the burrowing owl breeds in 
a hole in the ground, and keeps company with the 
prairie dog and the rattlesnake, but a bird that lives in 
a gloomy, malodorous cave, whose manners are far from 
attractive, and whose voice sounds as strident as a buzz- 
saw — surely such a bird can cast no spell upon the 
observer who is interested in the aesthetic side of bird 
nature. A recent writer, in describing " A Buzzards' 
Banquet," asks a couple of pregnant questions : ft Is 
there anything ugly out of doors ? Can the ardent, 
sympathetic lover of nature ever find her unlovely ? " 
To the present writer these questions present no Chi- 
nese puzzle. He simply brushes all speculation and 
theorizing aside by responding " Yes," to both inter- 
rogatories, on the principle that it is sometimes just as 
well to cut the Gordian knot as to waste precious time 
trying to untie it. The burrowing owl makes me think 
of a denizen of the other side of the river Styx, and 
why should one try to love that which nature has made 
unattractive, especially when one cannot help one's 
feeling ? 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 181 

In the preceding chronicles no mention, I believe, has 
been made of one little bird that deserves more than a 
mere obiter dictum. My first meeting with the blithe- 
some house-finch of the West occurred in the city of 
Denver, in 1899. It could not properly be called a 
formal presentment, but was none the less welcome on 
that account. I had scarcely stepped out upon the 
busy street before my ear was accosted by a kind of 
half twitter and half song that was new to me. " Surely 
that is not the racket of the English sparrow ; it is too 
musical," I remarked to a friend walking by my side. 

Peering among the trees and houses, I presently fo- 
cussed my field-glass upon a small, finch-like bird whose 
coat was striped with gray and brown, and whose face, 
crown, breast, and rump were beautifully tinged or 
washed with crimson, giving him quite a dressy appear- 
ance. What could this chipper little city chap be, with 
his trig form and well-bred manners, in such marked 
contrast with those of the swaggering English sparrow ? 
Afterwards he was identified as the house-finch, which 
rejoices in the high-sounding Latin name of Carpodacus 
meocicanus frontalis. His distribution is restricted to 
the Rocky Mountain district chiefly south of the 
fortieth parallel of north latitude. 

He is certainly an attractive species, and I wish we 
could offer sufficient inducements to bring him east. A 
bird like him is a boon and an ornament to the streets 



182 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

and parks of any city that he graces with his presence 
and enlivens with his songs. No selfish recluse is he ; 
no, indeed ! In no dark gulch or wilderness, far from 
human neighborhood, does he sulkily take up his abode, 
but prefers the companionship of man to the solitudes 
of nature, declaring in all his conduct that he likes to 
be where there are " folks. 11 In this respect he bears 
likeness to the English sparrow ; but let it be remem- 
bered that there the analogy stops. Even his chirrup- 
ing is musical as he flies overhead, or makes his caveat 
from a tree or a telegraph wire against your ill-bred 
espionage. He and his plainly clad little spouse build 
a neat cottage for their bairns about the houses, but 
do not clog the spouting and make themselves a 
nuisance otherwise, as is the habit of their English 
cousins. 

This finch is a minstrel, not of the first class, still one 
that merits a high place among the minor songsters ; 
and, withal, he is generous with his music. You might 
call him a kind of urban Arion, for there is real melody 
in his little score. As he is an early riser, his matin 
voluntaries often mingled with my half-waking dreams 
in the morning at dawn's peeping, and I loved to hear 
it too well to be angry for being aroused at an unseason- 
able hour. The song is quite a complicated perform- 
ance at its best, considerably prolonged and varied, 
running up and down the chromatic scale with a swing 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 183 

and gallop, and delivered with great rapidity, as if the 
lyrist Avere in a hurry to have done, so that he could 
get at something else. 

In my rambles he was found not only in the cities 
of the plains (Denver, Colorado Springs, and Pueblo), 
but also in many of the mountain towns and villages 
visited, Leadville, over ten thousand feet skyward, being, 
I believe, one of the exceptions, while Silver Plume and 
Graymont were others. He does not fancy altitudes, I 
take it, much over eight thousand feet. In the villages 
of Red Cliff and Glenwood, both beyond the conti- 
nental divide, he was the same sprightly citizen, mak- 
ing himself very much at home. 

Much as this finch cherishes the society of man, he 
is quite wary and suspicious, and does not fancy being 
watched. As long as you go on your way without 
seeming to notice him, he also goes his way, coming 
into plain sight and chirping and singing ; but just 
stop to watch him with your binocular, and see how 
quickly he will take alarm, dart away, and ensconce 
himself behind a clump of foliage, uttering a protest 
which seems to say, " Why does n't that old fellow go 
about his own business ? " If in some way the Ameri- 
can house-finch could be persuaded to come east, and 
the English sparrow could be given papers of extra- 
dition, the exchange would be a relief and a benefit 
to the whole country. 



184 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Some idyllic days were spent in sauntering about 
Golden, which keeps guard at the entrance of Clear 
Creek Canon, and has tucked itself in a beautiful 
valley among the foothills, which in turn stand sen- 
tinel over it. In the village itself and along the bush- 
fringed border of the creek below, as well as in the 
little park at its border, there were many birds, nearly 
all of which have been described in the previous chap- 
ters. However, several exceptions are worthy of note. 
A matted copse a mile and a half below the town 
afforded a hiding-place for three young or female red- 
starts, which were " playing butterfly ,"" as usual, and 
chanting their vivacious little tunes. These and several 
near Boulder were the only redstarts seen in my Colo- 
rado wanderings, although Professor Cooke says they 
breed sparingly on the plains, and a little more com- 
monly in the mountains to an altitude of eight thousand 
feet, while one observer saw a female in July at the 
timber-line, which is three thousand feet above the nor- 
mal range of the species. Why did not this birdlet 
remain within the bounds set by the scientific guild ? 
Suit for contempt of court should be brought against 
it. Redstarts must have been very scarce in the regions 
over which I rambled, else I certainly should have 
noticed birds that are so fearless and so lavish of song. 

One day my companion and I clambered up the 
steep side of a mesa some distance below Golden — 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 185 

that is, the base of the mesa was below the village, 
while its top towered far above it. A mesa was a 
structural portion of Colorado topography that neither 
of the two ramblers had yet explored, and we were 
anxious to know something about its resources from a 
natural history point of view. It was hard climbing on 
account of the steepness of the acclivity, its rocky char- 
acter, and the thick network of bushes and brambles in 
many places ; but " excelsior " was our motto in all our 
mountaineering, and we allowed no surmountable diffi- 
culties to daunt us. What birds select such steep 
places for a habitat ? Here lived in happy domesticity 
the lyrical green-tailed towhee, the bird of the liquid 
voice, the poet laureate of the steep, bushy mountain 
sides, just as the water-ousel is the poet of the cascades 
far down in the canons and gulches ; here also thrived 
the spurred towhees, one of which had tucked a nest 
beneath a bush cradling three speckled eggs. This was 
the second nest of this species I had found, albeit not 
the last. Here also dwelt the rock wren, a little bird 
that was new to me and that I had not found in the 
latitude of Colorado Springs either east or west of the 
continental divide. A description of this anchorite of 
the rocks will be given in a later chapter. I simply 
pause here to remark that he has a sort of " monarch- 
of-all-I-survey " air as he sits on a tall sandstone rock 
and blows the music from his Huon's horn on the mes- 



186 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

senger breezes. His wild melodies, often sounding like 
a blast from a bugle, are in perfect concord with the 
wild and rugged acclivities which he haunts, from which 
he can command many a prospect that pleases, whether 
he glances down into the valleys or up to the silver- 
capped mountain peaks. One cannot help feeling — at 
least, after one has left his rock-strewn dwelling-place 
— that a kind of glamour hangs about it and him. 

The loud hurly-burly of the long-tailed chat reached 
us from a bushy hollow not far away. So far as I could 
determine, this fellow is as garrulous a churl and bully 
as his yellow-breasted cousin so well known in the East. 
(Afterwards I found the chats quite numerous at 
Boulder.) At length we scaled the cliffs, and presently 
stood on the edge of the mesa, which we found to be a 
somewhat rolling plateau, looking much like the plains 
themselves in general features, with here and there a 
hint of verdure, on which a herd of cattle were graz- 
ing. The pasture was the buffalo grass. Does the bird- 
lover ask what species dwell on a treeless mesa like this ? 
It was the home of western grassfinches, western mead- 
ow-larks, turtle doves, desert horned larks, and a little 
bird that was new to me, evidently Brewer's sparrow. 
Its favorite resort was in the low bushes growing on the 
border of the mesa and along the edge of the cliff. Its 
song was unique, the opening syllable running low on 
the alto clef, while the closing notes constituted a very 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 187 

respectable soprano. A few extremely shy sparrows 
flitted about in the thickets of a hollow as we began 
our descent, and I have no doubt they were Lincoln's 
sparrows. 

The valley and the irrigated plain were the birds' 
elysium. Here we first saw and heard that captivating 
bird, the lark bunting, as will be fully set forth in the 
closing chapter. This was one of the birds that had 
escaped me in my first visit to Colorado, save as I had 
caught tantalizing glimpses of him from the car-window 
on the plain beyond Denver, and when I went south to 
Colorado Springs, I utterly failed to find him. It has 
been a sort of riddle to me that not one could be dis- 
covered in that vicinity, while two years later these 
birds were abundant on the plains both east and west 
of Denver. If Colorado Springs is a little too far south 
for them in the summer, Denver is obviously just to 
their liking. No less abundant were the western mead- 
ow-larks, which flew and sang with a kind of lyrical 
intoxication over the green alfalfa fields. 

One morning we decided to walk some distance up 
Clear Creek Canon. At the opening of the canon, 
Brewer's blackbirds were scuttling about in the bushes 
that broidered the steep banks of the tumultuous stream, 
and a short distance up in the gorge a lazuli bunting 
sat on a telegraph wire and piped his merry lay. Soon 
the canon narrowed, grew dark and forbidding, and the 



188 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

steep walls rose high on both sides, compelling the rail- 
way to creep like a half-imprisoned serpent along the 
foot of the cliffs ; then the birds disappeared, not caring 
to dwell in such dark, more than half-immured places. 
Occasionally a magpie could be seen sailing overhead 
at an immense height, crossing over from, one hillside to 
the other, turning his head as he made the transit, to 
get a view of the two peripatetics in the gulch below, 
anxious to discover whether they were bent on brigand- 
age of any kind. 

At length we reached a point where the mountain 
side did not look so steep as elsewhere, and we decided 
to scale it. From the railway it looked like a short 
climb, even if a little difficult, and we began it with 
only a slight idea of the magnitude of our undertaking. 
The fact is ? mountain climbing is a good deal more than 
pastime ; it amounts to work, downright hard work. 
In the present instance, no sooner had we gained one 
height than another loomed steep and challenging 
above us, so that we climbed the mountain by a series 
of immense steps or terraces. At places the acclivity 
was so steep that we were compelled to scramble over 
the rocks on all fours, and were glad to stop frequently 
and draw breath and rest our tired limbs. My boy 
comrade, having fewer things than I to lure him by 
the way, and being, perhaps, a little more agile as 
well, went far on ahead of me, often standing on a 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 189 

dizzy pinnacle of rock, and waving his butterfly-net or 
his cap in the air, and shouting at the top of his voice 
to encourage his lagging parent and announce his 
triumph as a mountaineer. 

However, the birdman can never forget his hobby. 
There were a few birds on that precipitous mountain 
side, and that lent it its chief attraction. At one 
place a spurred towhee flitted about in a bushy clump 
and called much like a catbird — an almost certain 
proof of a nest on the steep, rocky wall far up from 
the roaring torrent in the gorge below. On a stony 
ridge still farther up, a rock wren was ringing his pecul- 
iar score, which sounds so much like a challenge, while 
still farther up, in a cluster of stunted pines, a long- 
crested jay lilted about and called petulantly, until I 
came near, when he swung across the canon, and I saw 
him no more. 

After a couple of hours of hard climbing, we reached 
the summit, from which we were afforded a magnificent 
view of the foothills, the mesas, and the stretching plains 
below us, while above us to the west hills rose on hills 
until they culminated in mighty snow-capped peaks and 
ridges. It must not be supposed, because the snow- 
mantled summits in the w r est loomed far above our 
present station, that this mountain which we had as- 
cended was a comparatively insignificant affair. The 
fact is, it was of huge bulk and great height measured 



190 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

from its base in the canon ; almost as much of a moun- 
tain, in itself considered, as Gray's Peak. It must be 
borne in mind that the snowy peaks were from thirty 
to forty miles away, and that there is a gradual ascent 
the entire distance to the upper valleys and gorges 
which creep about the bases of the loftiest peaks and 
ridges. A mountain rising from the foothills may be 
almost as bulky and high and precipitous as one of the 
alpine peaks covered with eternal snow. Its actual alti- 
tude above sea-level may be less by many thousand feet, 
while its height from the surrounding canons and valleys 
may be almost, if not quite, as great. The alpine peaks 
have the advantage of majesty of situation, because the 
general level of the country from which they rise is very 
high. There we stood at a sort of outdoor halfway 
house between the plains and the towering ridges, and 
I can only say that the view was superb. 

There were certain kinds of birds which had brought 
their household gods to the mountain's crest. Lewis's 
woodpeckers ambled about over the summit and rocky 
ridges, catching insects on the wing, as is their wont. 
Some distance below the summit a pair of them had 
a nest in a dead pine snag, from the orifice of which 
one was seen to issue. A mother hawk was feeding a 
couple of youngsters on the snarly branch of a dead 
pine. Almost on the summit a western nighthawk 
sprang up from my feet. On the bare ground, without 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 191 

the faintest sign of a nest, lay her two speckled eggs, 
which she had been brooding. She swept around above 
the summit in immense zigzag spirals while I examined 
her roofless dwelling-place. It was interesting to one 
bird-lover, at least, to know that the nighthawk breeds 
in such places. Like their eastern congeners, the 
western nighthawks are fond of " booming." At inter- 
vals a magpie would swing across the canon, looking 
from side to side, the impersonation of cautious shy- 
ness. A few rods below the crest a couple of rock 
wrens were flitting about some large rocks, creeping 
in and out among the crevices like gray mice, and at 
length one of them slyly fed a well-fledged youngster. 
This proves that these birds, like many of their con- 
geners, are partial to a commanding lookout for a 
nesting site. These were the only occupants of the 
mountain's brow at the time of our visit, although in 
one of the hollows below us the spurred and green- 
tailed towhees were rendering a selection from Haydn's 
" Creation, 11 probably " The heavens are telling." 

No water was to be found from the bottom of the 
canon to the summit of the mountain ; all was as dry 
as the plain itself. The feathered tenants of the dizzy 
height were doubtless compelled to fly down into the 
gorge for drinking and bathing purposes, and then 
wing up again to the summit — certainly no light task 
for such birds as the wrens and towhees. 



192 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Before daybreak one morning I made my way to a 
small park on the outskirts of the village to listen 
to the birds'' matutinal concert. The earliest singers 
were the western robins, which began their carols at the 
first hint of the coming dawn ; the next to break the 
silence were the western wood-pewees ; then the summer 
warblers chimed in, followed by the western grass- 
finches, Bullock's orioles, meadow-larks, and lark spar- 
rows, in the order named. Before daylight had fully 
come a family of mountain bluebirds were taking their 
breakfast at the border of the park, while their human 
relatives were still snoring in bed. The bluebirds 
are governed by old-fashioned rules even in this very 
" modern " age, among their maxims being, — 

" Early to bed and early to rise, 
Makes bluebirds healthy and wealthy and wise. " 

Just now I came across a pretty conceit of John B. 

Tabb, which more aptly sets off the mountain blue 

than it does his eastern relative, and which I cannot 

forbear quoting : 

" When God made a host of them, 
One little flower lacked a stem 

To hold its blossom blue ; 
So into it He breathed a song, 
And suddenly, with petals strong 
As wings, away it flew." 

And there is Eben E. Rexford, who almost loses 
himself in a tangle of metaphors in his efforts to express 



PLAINS AND FOOTHILLS 193 

his admiration of this bird with the cerulean plumes. 
Hark to his rhapsody : 

** Winged lute that we call a bluebird, you blend in a silver strain 
The sound of the laughing waters, the patter of spring's sweet rain, 
The voice of the winds, the sunshine, and fragrance of blossoming 

things ; 
Ah ! you are an April poem that God has dowered with wings." 

On our return to the plains from a two weeks' trip to 
Georgetown and Gray's Peak, we spent several days 
at Arvada, a village about halfway between Denver 
and Golden. The place was rife with birds, all of 
which are described in other chapters of this volume. 1 
Mention need be made here only of the song-sparrows, 
which were seen in a bushy place through which a 
purling stream wound its way. Of course, they were 
Melospiza Jhsciaia montana, but their clear, bell-like 
trills were precise copies of those of the merry lowland 
minstrels of the East. Special attention is called to 
the fact that, in my first visit to Colorado, the only 
place in which mountain song-sparrows were met with 
was Buena Vista, quite a distauce up among the moun- 
tains, while in the visit now being described they were 
not found anywhere in the mountains, save in the vale 

1 I find I have overlooked the western Maryland yellow-throat, 
which was seen here ; also near Colorado Springs, and in several 
other bushy spots, only on the plains. It seldom ascends into the 
mountains, never far. Its song and habits are similar to those of 
its eastern congener. 

13 



194 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



below Cassels. They were breeding at Arvada, for 
a female was seen carrying a worm in her bill, and I 
am sure a nest might easily have been found had 
I not been so busily occupied in the study of other 
and rarer species. However, the recollection of the 
merry lyrists with the speckled breasts and silvery 
voices, brings to mind Mr. Ernest Thompson Seton's 
"Myth of the Song-Sparrow," from which it will be 
seen that this attractive bird has had something of an 
adventurous career : 



" His mother was the Brook, his sisters were the Reeds, 
And they every one applauded when he sang about his deeds. 
His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be, 
And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee. 
But an envious Neighbor splashed with mud our Brownie's coat 

and vest, 
And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast. 
The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away, 
But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay. 
And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch, as you see ; 
But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee." 



His songs are ft% 
bubbling over 
still with melody 
and gl 




Song Sparrow 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 

AT nine o'clock on the morning of June 22, the 
two ramblers boarded a Colorado and Southern 
train, and bowled up Clear Creek Canon to 
Georgetown. Having been studying winged creatures 
on the plains and among the foothills, mesas, and lower 
mountains, we now proposed to go up among the 
mountains that were mountains in good earnest, and 
see what we could find. 

The village of Georgetown nestles in a deep pocket 
of the mountains. The valley is quite narrow, and on 
three sides, save where the two branches of Clear Creek 
have hewn out their canons, the ridges rise at a sharp 
angle to a towering height, while here and there a 
white-cap peeps out through the depressions. Those 
parts of the narrow vale that are irrigated by the creek 
and its numerous tiny tributaries are beautiful in their 
garb of green, while the areas that are not thus refreshed 
are as gray as the arid portions of the plains them- 
selves. And that is the case everywhere among the 

197 



198 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Rockies — where no water flows over the surface the 
porous, sandy soil is dry and parched. The altitude 
of Georgetown is eight thousand four hundred and 
seventy-six feet. We were therefore three thousand 
feet higher than we had been in the morning, and had 
a right to expect a somewhat different avi -fauna, an 
expectation in which we were not disappointed. 

Our initial ramble took us down the valley. The 
first bird noted was a familiar one — the warbling vireo, 
which is very abundant in Colorado in its favorite local- 
ities, where all day you may be lulled by its " silvery 
converse, just begun and never ended. r ' No descrip- 
tion of a bird so well known in both the East and the 
West is required, but the one seen that day gave 
a new performance, which seems to be worthy of more 
than a passing notice. Have other bird students ob- 
served it ? The bird was first seen flitting about in 
the trees bordering the street ; then it flew to its little 
pendent nest in the twigs. I turned my glass upon it, 
and, behold, there it sat in its tiny hammock singing 
its mercurial tune at the top of its voice. It continued 
its solo during the few minutes I stopped to watch it, 
glancing over the rim of its nest at its auditor with 
a pert gleam in its twinkling eyes. That was the first 
and only time I have ever seen a bird indulging its 
lyrical whim while it sat on its nest. Whether the 
bird was a male or a female I could not determine, but, 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 199 

whatever its sex, its little bosom was bubbling over 
with music. 1 

It was soon evident that the western robins were 
abundant about Georgetown, as they were on the plains 
and among the foothills. They were principally en- 
gaged just now in feeding their young, which had 
already left their nests. Presently I shall have more 
to say about these birds. Just now I was aware of 
some little strangers darting about in the air, uttering 
a fine, querulous note, and at length descending to the 
ground to feast daintily on the seeds of a low plant. 
Here I could see them plainly with my glass, for they 
gave me gracious permission to go quite near them. 
Their backs were striped, the predominant color being 
brown or dark gray, while the whitish under parts 
were streaked with dusk, and there were yellow decora- 
tions on the wings and tails, whether the birds were 
at rest or in flight. When the wings were spread and 



1 After the foregoing was written, I chanced upon the following 
note in " Bird Lore " for September and October, 1901, written by 
a lady at Moline, Illinois, who had made an early morning visit 
to the haunt of a warbling vireo : "Seated on the ground, in a 
convenient place for watching the vireo, which was on the nest, 
we were soon attracted by a vireo's song. Search for the singer 
failed to find it, until we noted that the bird on the nest seemed to 
be singing. Then, as we watched, over and over again the bird 
was seen to lift up its head and pour out the long, rich warble — 
a most delicious sight and sound. Are such ways usual among 
birds, or did we chance to see and hear an unusual thing ? " 



CLEAR CREEK VALLEY 

A scene near Georgetown. The copses in the valley are the 
home of white-crowned sparrows, willow thrushes, Lincoln s 
sparrows and Wilson's warblers; the steep, bushy acclivities 
are selected by the spurred and green-tailed towhces, Audubon s 
and Macgillivrai/s warblers; while the western robins, pine 
siskins, and broad-tailed humming-birds range all over the 
region. The robins and siskins make some of their most thrilling 
plunges over such cliffs as are shown in the picture. 






202 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

in motion, the golden ornamentation gave them a filmy 
appearance. On the wing, the birds, as I afterwards 
observed, often chirped a little lay that bore a close 
resemblance in certain parts to the " pe-chick-o-pe " of 
the American goldfinch. Indeed, a number of their 
notes suggested that bird, as did also their manner of 
flight, which was quite undulatory. The birds were the 
pine siskins. They are very common in the Rockies, 
ranging from an elevation of eight thousand feet to the 
timber-line. This pert and dainty little bird is the 
same wherever found in North America, having no 
need of the cognomen " western " prefixed to his name 
when he takes it into his wise little head to make his 
abode in the Rocky Mountains. 

The reader will perhaps recall that a flock of pine 
siskins were seen, two years prior, in a patch of pine 
scrub a short distance below Leadville, at which time 
I was uncertain as to their identity. Oddly enough, 
that was the only time I saw these birds in my first 
trip to Colorado, but here in the Georgetown region, 
only seventy-five or a hundred miles farther north, no 
species were more plentiful than they. 

The siskins try to sing — I say "try" advisedly. It 
is one of the oddest bits of bird vocalization you ever 
heard, a wheezy little tune in the ascending scale — 
a kind of crescendo — which sounds as if it were pro- 
duced by inhalation rather than exhalation. It is as 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 203 

labored as the alto strain of the clay-colored sparrow 
of the Kansas and Nebraska prairies, although it runs 
somewhat higher on the staff. The siskins seen at 
Georgetown moved about in good-sized flocks, feeding 
awhile on weed-seeds on the sunny slopes, and then 
wheeling with a merry chirp up to the pine-clad sides 
of the mountains. As they were still in the gregarious 
frame at Georgetown, I concluded that they had not 
yet begun to mate and build their nests in that locality. 
Afterwards I paid not a little attention to them farther 
up in the mountains, and saw several feeding their 
young, but, as their nests are built high in the pines, 
they are very difficult to find, or, if found, to examine. 
Our birdlets have superb powers of flight, and actually 
seem to revel in hurling themselves down a precipice 
or across a chasm with a recklessness that makes the 
observer's blood run cold. Sometimes they will dart 
out in the air from a steep mountain side, sing a ditty 
much like the goldfinch's, then circle back to their 
native pines on the dizzy cliff. 

I must be getting back to my first ramble below 
Georgetown. Lured by the lyrics of the green-tailed 
towhee, I climbed the western acclivity a few hundred 
feet, but found that few birds choose such dry and 
eerie places for a habitat. Indeed, this was generally 
my experience in rambling among the mountains ; the 
farther up the arid steeps, the fewer the birds. If you 



204 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

will follow a mountain brook up a sunny slope or open 
valley, you will be likely to find many birds ; but wan- 
der away from the water courses, and you will look for 
them, oftentimes, in vain. The green-tailed towhees, 
spurred towhees, Audubon's warblers, and mountain 
hermit thrushes are all partial to acclivities, even very 
steep ones, but they do not select those that are too 
remote from the babbling brook to which they may 
conveniently resort for drinking and bathing. 

A green and bushy spot a half mile below the village 
was the home of a number of white-crowned sparrows. 
None of them were seen on the plains or in the foothills ; 
they had already migrated from the lower altitudes, and 
had sought their summer residences in the upper moun- 
tain valleys, where they may be found in great abun- 
dance from an elevation of eight thousand feet to copsy 
haunts here and there far above the timber-line hard 
by the fields of snow. 

The white-crowns in the Georgetown valley seemed 
to be excessively shy, and their singing was a little too 
reserved to be thoroughly enjoyable, for which reason I 
am disposed to think that mating and nesting had not 
yet begun, or I should have found evidences of it, as 
their grassy cots on the ground and in the bushes are 
readily discovered. Other birds that were seen in this 
afternoon's ramble were Wilson's and Audubon's war- 
blers, the spotted sandpiper, and that past-master in the 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 205 

art of whining, the killdeer. Another warbler's trill 
was heard in the thicket, but I was unable to identify 
the singer that evening, for he kept himself conscien- 
tiously hidden in the tanglewood. A few days later it 
turned out to be one of the most beautiful feathered 
midgets of the Rockies, Macgillivray's warbler, which 
was seen in a number of places, usually on bushy slopes. 
He and his mate often set up a great to-do by chirping 
and flitting about, and I spent hours in trying to find 
their nests, but with no other result than to wear out 
my patience and rubber boots. I can recall no other 
Colorado bird, either large or small, except the moun- 
tain jay, that made so much ado about nothing, so far 
as I could discover. But I love them still, on account 
of the beauty of their plumage and the gentle rhythm 
of their trills. 

The next morning, chilly as the weather was — and it 
was cold enough to make one shiver even in bed — the 
western robins opened the day's concert with a splendid 
voluntary, waking me out of my slumbers and forcing 
me out of doors for an early walk. No one but a syste- 
matic ornithologist would be able to mark the difference 
between the eastern and western types of robins, for 
their manners, habits, and minstrelsy are alike, and their 
markings, too, so far as ordinary observation goes. The 
carolling of the two varieties is similar, so far as I could 
discern — the same cherry ringing melody, their voices 



206 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

having a like propensity to break into falsetto, becoming 
a veritable squeak, especially early in the season before 
their throat-harps are well tuned. With his powerful 
muscles and wide stretch of wing the robin is admirably 
adapted to the life of a mountaineer. You find him 
from the plains to the timber-line, sometimes even in 
the deepest canons and on the most precipitous moun- 
tain sides, always the same busy, noisy, cheery body. 
One day I saw a robin dart like a meteor from the top 
of a high ridge over the cliffs to the valley below, where 
he alighted on a cultivated field almost as lightly as a 
flake of snow. He — probably she (what a trouble 
these pronouns are, anyway!) — gathered a mouthful 
of worms for his nestlings, then dashed up to the top of 
the ridge again, which he did, not by flying out into the 
air, but by keeping close up to the steep, cliffy wall, 
striking a rock here and twig there with his agile feet to 
help him in rising. The swiftness of the robin's move- 
ments about the gorges, abysses, and precipices of the 
mountains often inspires awe in the beholder's breast, 
and, on reflection, stirs him with envy. Many nests were 
found in the Georgetown valley, in woodsy and bushy 
places on the route to Gray's Peak as far as the timber- 
line, in the neighborhood of Boulder, in the Platte 
River Canon, in South Park, and in the Blue River re- 
gion beyond the Divide. Some of the nests contained 
eggs, others young in various stages of plumage, and 






RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 



207 



still others were already deserted. For general ubiquity 
as a species, commend me to the American robin, whether 
of the eastern or western type. Wherever found he is a 
singer, and it is only to be regretted that — 

" All will not hear thy sweet, out-pouring joy 
That with morn's stillness blends the voice of song, 
For over-anxious cares their souls employ, 
That else, upon thy music borne along 
And the light wings of heart-ascending prayer, 
Had learned that Heaven is pleased thy simple joys to share. " 

In Georgetown, Silver Plume, 
and other mountain towns the 
lovely violet-green swallow is 
frequently seen — a distinctly 
western species and one of 
the most richly apparelled 
birds of the Rockies. It 
nests in all sorts of niches 
and crannies about the 
houses, often sits calmly on a 
telegraph wire and preens its 
iridescent plumes, and sometimes 
utters a weak and squeaky little 
trill, which, no doubt, passes for first-rate 
music in swallowdom, whatever we human critics might u 
think of it. Before man came and settled in those 
valleys, the violet-greens found the crevices of rocks well 




Western Robin 

Out-pouring joy " 



208 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

enough adapted to their needs for nesting sites, but now 
they prefer cosey niches and crannies in human dwellings, 
and appear to appreciate the society of human beings. 

For over a week we made Georgetown our headquar- 
ters, going off every day to the regions round about. 
Among my most treasured finds here was the nest of 
Audubon's warbler — my first. It was saddled in the 
crotch of a small pine a short distance up an acclivity, 
and was prettily roofed over with a thick network of 
branches and twigs. Four white, daintily speckled eggs 
lay in the bottom of the cup. While I was sitting in 
the shadow of the pine, some motion of mine caused the 
little owner to spring from her nest, and this led to its 
discovery. As she flitted about in the bushes, she 
uttered a sharp chip, sometimes consisting of a double 
note. The nest was about four feet from the ground, 
its walls built of grasses and weed-stems, and its con- 
cave little floor carpeted with cotton and feathers. A 
cosey cottage it was, fit for the little poets that erected 
it. Subsequently I made many long and tiresome 
efforts to find nests of the Audubons, but all these 
efforts were futile. 

One enchanting day — the twenty- fourth of June — 
was spent in making a trip, with butterfly-net and field- 
glass, to Green Lake, an emerald gem set in the moun- 
tains at an altitude of ten thousand feet, a few miles 
from Georgetown. Before leaving the town, our first 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 209 

gray -headed junco for this expedition was seen. He 
had come to town for his breakfast, and was flitting 
about on the lawns and in the trees bordering the street, 
helping himself to such dainties as pleased his palate. 
It may be said here that the gray-headed j uncos were 
observed at various places all along the way from 
Georgetown to Green Lake and far above that body of 
water. Not so with the broad-tailed hummers, which 
were not seen above about eight thousand five hundred 
feet, while the last warbling vireo of the day was seen 
and heard at an altitude of nine thousand feet, possibly 
a little more, when he decided that the air was as rare 
as was good for his health. 

A short distance up the canon of the west branch of 
Clear Creek, a new kind of flycatcher was first heard, 
and presently seen with my glass. He sat on a cliff or 
flitted from rock to bush. He uttered a sharp call, 
" Cheep, cheep, cheep " ; his under parts were bright 
yellow, his upper parts yellow-olive, growing darker on 
the crown, and afterwards a nearer view revealed dark 
or dusky wings, yellowish or gray wing-bars, and yellow 
eye-rings. He was the western flycatcher, and bears 
close likeness to our eastern yellow-breasted species. 
Subsequently he was quite frequently met with, but 
never far above the altitude of Georgetown. 

In the same canon a beautiful Macgillivray's warbler 
was observed, and two water-ousels went dashing up the 

14 



210 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

meandering stream, keeping close to the seething and 
roaring waters, but never stopping to sing or bid us the 
time of day. Very few ousels were observed in our 
rambles in this region, and no nests rewarded my search, 
whereas in the vicinity of Colorado Springs, as the reader 
will recall, these interesting birds were quite frequently 
near at hand. A mother robin holding a worm in her 
bill sped down the gulch with the swiftness of an arrow. 
We soon reached a belt of quaking asps where there 
were few birds. This was succeeded by a zone of pines. 
The green-tailed towhees did not accompany us farther 
in our climb than to an elevation of about nine thousand 
three hundred feet, but the siskins were chirping and 
cavorting about and above us all the way, many of them 
evidently having nests in the tops of the tall pines on 
the dizzy cliffs. Likewise the hermit thrushes were seen 
in suitable localities by the way, and also at the highest 
point we reached that day, an elevation of perhaps ten 
thousand five hundred feet. 

While some species were, so to speak, our " com- 
panions in travel " the entire distance from the town to 
the lake, and others went with us only a part of the 
way, still other species found habitats only in the higher 
regions clambering far up toward the timber-line. 
Among these were the mountain jays, none of which 
were found as far down the range as Georgetown. They 
began to proclaim their presence by raucous calls as soon 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 



211 



as we arrived in the vicinity of Green Lake. A family 
of them were hurtling about in the pine woods, allow- 
ing themselves to be inspected at short range, and filling 
the hollows with their uncanny calls. What a voice 
the mountain jay has ! Nature did a queer thing when 
she put a "horse-fiddle" into the larynx 
of this bird — but it is not ours to ask ]ff^t^yf^mt' 
the reason why, simply to study her as 
she is. In marked contrast with the harsh 
calls of these mountain hobos were the 
roulades of the sweet and musical ruby- 
crowned kinglets, which had absented themselves 
from the lower altitudes, but were abundant in 
the timber belts about ten thousand feet up the 
range and still higher. 

On the border of the lake, among some gnarly 
pines, I stumbled upon a woodpecker that was 
entirely new to my eastern eyes — one that I 
had not seen in my previous touring among 
the heights of the Rockies. He was sedu- 
lously pursuing his vocation — a divine 
call, no doubt — of chiselling grubs 
out of the bark of the pine trees, 
making the chips fly, and produc- 
ing at intervals that musical , ^ 





Chiselling grubs out of the bark" 



212 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

snare-drumming which always sets the poet to dreaming 
of sylvan solitudes. What was the bird? The red- 
naped sapsucker, a beautifully habited Chesterfield in 
plumes. He presently ambled up the steep mountain 
side, and buried himself in the pine forest, and I saw 
him no more, and none of his kith. 

When I climbed up over a tangle of rocks to a woodsy 
ravine far above the lake, it seemed at first as if there 
were no birds in the place, that it was given up entirely 
to solitude; but the winged creatures were only shy 
and cautious for the nonce, waiting to learn something 
about the errand and disposition of their uninvited, or, 
rather, self-invited, guest, before they ventured to give 
him a greeting. Presently they discovered that he was 
not a collector, hunter, nest-robber, or ogre of any other 
kind, and there was the swish of wings around me, and 
a medley of chirps and songs filled the sequestered spot. 
Away up here the gray-headed j uncos were trilling like 
warblers, and hopping about on their pine-needle carpet, 
creeping in and out among the rocks, hunting for tid- 
bits. Here also was the mountain chickadee, found at 
this season in the heights hard by the alpine zone, 
singing his dulcet minor strain, " Te-te-re-e-e, te-eet," 
sometimes adding another " te-eet " by way of special 
emphasis and adornment. Oh, the sweet little piper 
piping only for Pan ! The loneliness of the place was 
accentuated by the sad cadenzas of the mountain hermit 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 213 

thrushes. Swallows of some kind — cliff-swallows, no 
doubt — were silently weaving invisible filigree across 
the sky above the tops of the statelv pines. 

In the afternoon we made our way, with not a little 
laborious effort, to the farther end of the lake, across 
which a red-shafted flicker would occasionally wing its 
galloping flight ; thence through a wilderness of large 
rocks and fallen pines to a beckoning ridge, where, to 
our surprise, another beautiful aqueous sheet greeted 
our vision in the valley beyond. Descending to its 
shores, we had still another surprise — its waters were 
brown instead of green. Here were two mountain lakes 
not more than a quarter of a mile apart, one of which 
was green and the other brown, each with a beauty all 
its own. In the brown lake near the shore there were 
glints of gold as the sun shone through its ripples on the 
rocks at the bottom. Afterwards we learned that the 
name of this liquid gem was Clear Lake, and that 
the western branch of Clear Creek flows through it, . 
tarrying a while to sport and dally with the sunbeams. 
While Green Lake was embowered in a forest of pine, 
its companion lay in the open sunlight, unflecked by 
the shadow of a tree. 

At the upper end of Clear Lake we found a green, 
bosky and bushy corner, which formed the summer tryst 
of white-crowned sparrows, Wilson's warblers, and broad- 
tailed humming-birds, none of which could find a suit- 



214 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 




able habitat on the rocky 
shores of Greei 
pigeon hawk, I 
note, had set- 
and was watching; 
the only fly in 
enchanted 
flycatcher 

copse some distance up 
way. I trudged up the valley 
above Clear Lake, and found 
meadow, with clumps of bushes 
in which a few white-crowned 
Wilson's warblers had taken up 
dwelling; but the wind was 
ingly from the snow-capped 
many miles away, and there 
aspect about the vale. The cold 
the birds as it did myself, for 
few bars of song in a half- 
ing was approaching, and the _. 
the human ones, I mean — 
down the valleys and canons 
town, which they reached at 
thankful for the privilege of 
day among their winged com- ' 
Following a wagon road, the f! 



forest r locked 
Lake. A 
regretted to 
tied among the bushes, 
for quarry, making 
the amber of the 
spot. A least 
flitted about in the 
a shallow run- 
about a mile 
a green, open 
here and there, 
sparrows and 
at least a temporary 



blowing shiver- 
mountains not 
was still a wintry 
evidently affected 
they lisped only a 
hearted way. Even- 
two travellers — 
started on the trail 
toward George- 
dusk, tired, but 
spending an idyllic 
panions. 
i next day, across a 

Pigeon Hawk 

" Watching for quarry " 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 215 

pass some distance below Georgetown brought us into an- 
other valley, whose green meadows and cultivated fields 
lay a little lower, perhaps a couple hundred feet, than 
the valley from which we had come. Here we found 
many Brewer's blackbirds, of which there were very few 
in the vicinity of Georgetown. They were feeding their 
young, some of which had already left the nest. No 
red- winged blackbirds had been seen in the Georgetown 
valley, while here there was a large colony of them, 
many carrying food to the bantlings in grass and bush. 
Otherwise there was little difference between the avi- 
fauna of the two valleys. 

One morning I climbed the steep mountain just 
above Georgetown, the one that forms the divide be- 
tween the two branches of Clear Creek. A western 
chipping sparrow sat trilling on the top of a small pine, 
as unafraid as the chippie that rings his silvery peals 
about your dooryard in the East; nor could I distin- 
guish any difference between the minstrelsy of this 
westerner and his well-known cousin of Ohio. He dex- 
terously caught an insect on the wing, having learned 
that trick, perhaps, from his neighbor, the little west- 
ern flycatcher, which also lived on the slope. Hermit 
thrushes, Audubon's warblers, and warbling vireos dwelt 
on the lower part of the acclivity. When I climbed far 
up the steep wall, scarcely able to cling to its gravellv 
surface, I found very few birds ; only a flycatcher and 



216 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

an Audubon's warbler, while below me the hermit 
thrushes were chanting a sacred oratorio in the pine 
woods. 

On another day the train bore us around the famous 
" Loop " to Silver Plume. In the beautiful pine grove 
at the terminus of the railway there were many birds 
— siskins, chipping sparrows, western robins and ruby- 
crowned kinglets ; and they were making the place 
vocal with melody, until I began to inspect them with 
my glass, when they suddenly lapsed into a silence that 
was as trying as it was profound. By and by, discretion 
having had her perfect work, they metaphorically came 
out of their shells and permitted an inspection. Above 
the railway I saw one of the few birds of my entire 
Rocky Mountain outing that I was unable to identify. 
That little feathered Sphinx — what could he have 
been ? To quote from my note-book, " His song, as 
he sits quietly on a twig in a pine tree, is a rich gur- 
gling trill, slightly like that of a house-wren, but fuller 
and more melodious, with an air about it that makes 
me feel almost like writing a poem. The bird is in 
plain view before me, and I may watch him either with 
or without my glass ; he has a short, conical bill ; 
his upper parts are gray or olive-gray ; cervical patch 
of a greenish tinge ; under parts whitish, spotted with 
dusk or brown. The bill is white or horn-color, and is 
quite heavy, I should say heavier than that of any spar- 



RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 217 

row I know. The bird continued to sing for a long 
time and at frequent intervals, not even stopping when 
the engine near at hand blew off steam, although he 
turned his head and looked a little startled." I saw 
this species nowhere else in my Colorado rambles, and 
can find no description in the systematic manuals that 
helps to clear up the mystery, and so an avis incognita 
he must remain for the present. 

Has mention been made of a few house-finches that 
were seen in Georgetown ? Only a few, however, for 
they prefer the towns and cities of the plain. Several 
house-wrens were also seen in the vicinity of the George- 
town Loop as well as elsewhere in the valley. The 
" Loop," although a monumental work of human genius 
and daring, has its peculiar attractions for the student 
of natural history, for in the canon itself, which is 
somewhat open and not without bushy haunts, and on 
the precipitous mountain sides, a few birds set up their 
Lares and Penates, and mingle their songs of domestic 
felicity with the roar of the torrent and the passing 
trains. Darting like zigzag lightning about the cliffs, 
the broad-tailed humming-bird cuts the air with his 
sharp, defiant buzz, until you exclaim with the poet : 

" Is it a monster bee, 

Or is it a midget bird, 
Or yet an air-born mystery 

That now yon marigold has stirred ? " 



218 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 



Among the birds that dwell on the steep mountain 
sides above the " Loop " hollow are the melodious green- 
tailed towhees, lisping their chansons of good-will to 
breeze and torrent, while in the copse of asps in the 
hollow itself the warbling vireo and the western fly- 
catcher hold sway, the former rehearsing his recitative 
all the day long, and the latter chirping his protest at 
every human intrusion. On a pine-clad shelf between 
the second fold of the " Loop " and what is known as 
the " Great Fill " I settled (at least, to my own satis- 
faction) a long-disputed point in regard to the vocaliza- 
mountain hermit thrush. Again 
I had noticed a peculiarity about 
hermit's minstrelsy — whenever 
the music reached my ear, it 
came in two runs, the first 
quite high in the scale, the 
second perhaps an octave 
lower. For a long time I 
supposed that two thrushes 
were singing responsively, 
but here at the " Loop,"" 
after listening for a couple 
of hours, it occurred to me 
as improbable that there 
would invariably be a respon- 

"Solo singing in the dent when a thrush lifted up 

thrush realm" 



tion of the 
and again 
the 




RAMBLES ABOUT GEORGETOWN 219 

his voice in song. Surely there would sometimes, at 
least, be solo singing in the thrush realm. And so the 
conclusion was forced upon me that both strains ema- 
nated from the same throat, that each vocalist was its 
own respondent. It was worth while to clamber labo- 
riously about the " Loop " to settle a point like that — 
at all events, it was worth while for one admirer of the 
birds. 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 




Plate VI 



Townsend's Solitaire — Myiadestes townsendii 




HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 



BY the uninitiated it may be regarded simply as 
fun and pastime to climb a mountain whose 
summit soars into cloudland ; in reality it is 
serious business, not necessarily accompanied with great 
danger, but always accomplished by laborious effort. 
However, it is better for the clamberer to look upon his 
undertaking as play rather than work. Should he come 
to feel that it is actual toil, he might soon weary of a 
task engaged in so largely for its own sake, and decide 
to expend his time and energy in something that would 
" pay better." Moreover, if he is impelled by a hobby 
— ornithology, for instance — in addition to the mere 
love of mountaineering, he will find that something 
very near akin to wings has been annexed to the climb- 
ing gear of which he is naturally possessed. 

The morning of June 27 saw my youthful com- 
panion and myself mounted each upon a shaggy burro, 

223 



224 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

scrambling up the steep hill above Georgetown, en route 
for Gray's Peak, the ascent of which was the chief goal 
of our ambition in coming to the Rockies on the present 
expedition. The distance from Georgetown to the 
summit of this peak is fourteen miles, and the crest it- 
self is fourteen thousand four hundred and forty-one 
feet above sea-level, almost three hundred feet higher 
than Pike's Peak, and cannot be scaled by means of a 
cog-wheel railway or any other contrivance that uses 
steam or electricity as a motor. Indeed, the only 
motor available at the time of our ascent — that is, for 
the final climb — was "shank's horses, 1 "' very useful and 
mostly safe, even if a little plebeian. We had been 
wise enough not to plunge at once among the heights, 
having spent almost a week rambling over the plains, 
mesas, foothills, and lower ranges, then had been occu- 
pied for five or six days more in exploring the valleys 
and mountain sides in the vicinity of Georgetown, 
and thus, by gradually approaching them, we had be- 
come inured to " roughing it " in the higher altitudes 
when we reached them, and suffered no ill effects from 
the rarefied atmosphere. 

We passed the famous " Georgetown Loop,"" crept at 
a snail's pace — for that is the natural gait of the burro 
— through the town of Silver Plume, and pursued our 
leisurely journey toward the beckoning, snow-clad 
heights beyond. No, we did not hurry, for two reasons : 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 225 

First, our little four-footers would not or could not 
quicken their pace, urge them as we would ; second, we 
desired to name all the birds along the route, and that 
"without a gun," as Emerson mercifully enjoins. 

Have you ever ridden a burro ? Have you ever been 
astride of an old one, a hirsute, unkempt, snail-paced, 
obstinate one, which thinks he knows better what gait 
he ought to assume than you do ? If you have not, 
I venture to suggest modestly that your education 
and moral discipline are not quite complete. The pair 
which we had hired were slow and headstrong enough 
to develop the patience of Job in a most satisfactory 
way, and to test it, too. They were as homely as the 
proverbial " mud fence " is supposed to be. Never 
having seen a fence of that kind, I speak with some 
degree of caution, not wanting to cast any disparage- 
ment upon something of which I have so little knowl- 
edge. If our long-eared companions had ever seen 
a curry-comb, it must have been in the days of Noah. 
You see, we were " tenderfoots," as far as having had 
any experience with burros was concerned, or we might 
have selected a more sprightly pair for our fellow- 
pilgrims. A fine picture, fit for the camera or the 
artist's brush, we presented as we crept with the speed 
of a tortoise along the steep mountain roads and trails. 
Our " jacks," as Messrs. Longears are called colloquially, 
were not lazy — oh, no ! they were simply averse to 

15 



226 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

leaving home ! Their domestic ties were so strong they 
bound them with cords of steel and hooks of iron to 
stall and stable-yard ! The thought of forsaking friends 
and kindred even for only a few days wrung their 
loving hearts with anguish ! No wonder we had a 
delicate and pathetic task on hand when we attempted 
to start our caravan up the mountain road. From 
side to side the gentle animals wabbled, their load of 
grief weighing them down tenfold more than the loads 
on their backs, and times without count they were 
prompted to veer about and "turn again home." 

Much labor and time and patience were expended 
in persuading our steeds to crawl up the hill, but I am 
delighted to say that no profane history was quoted, 
as we were a strictly moral crowd. At length we 
arrived in state at the village of Silver Plume. Canter 
into the town like a gang of border ruffians we did not ; 
we entered deliberately, as became a dignified company 
of travellers. But here a new difficulty confronted us, 
stared us blankly in the face. Our little charges could 
not be convinced that there was any occasion for going 
farther than the town. They seemed to have con- 
scientious scruples about the matter; so they stopped 
without any invitation from their riders, sidled off, 
turned in toward the residences, stores, groceries, shoe- 
shops, drugstores, barns, and even the saloons, the 
while the idlers on the streets and the small boys were 



HO ! FOR GRAY'S PEAK ! 227 

gawking at us, smiling in a half-suppressed way, and 
making quaint remarks in which we could see no 
wisdom nor humor. We had not come into the town, 
like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, merely to furnish 
the villagers amusement. Applying our canes and 
straps forcibly to the haunches and rumps of our burros 
only seemed to embarrass the poor creatures, for you 
can readily see how they would reason the matter out 
from their own premises : If they were to go no farther, 
as had been decided by themselves, why should their 
riders belabor them in that merciless way ? For down- 
right dialectics commend me to the Rocky Mountain 
burro. 

Finally a providence in the shape of two small boys 
came to our rescue, and in a most interesting and 
effective way. Seeing the predicament we were in, 
and appreciating the gravity of the situation, those 
nimble-witted lads picked up a couple of clubs from the 
street, and, getting in the rear of our champing steeds, 
began to pound them over the haunches. For small 
boys they delivered sturdy blows. Now, if there is 
anything that will make a burro move dexterously out 
of his tracks, it is to get behind him with a club and 
beat a steady tattoo on his hams and legs. No sooner 
did the boys begin to apply their clubs in good earnest 
than our burros began to print tracks in quick succes- 
sion on the dusty road, and we went gayly through the 



228 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

town, the lads making a merry din with their shouts 
and whacks, mingled with the patter of hoofs on the 
street. It was so dramatic that even the women came 
to their doors to witness the pageant. We tried not 
to laugh, and so did the delicately mannered spectators, 
but I suspect that a good deal of laughing was done 
on the sly, in spite of the canons of etiquette. 

At length the obliging lads became a little too 
accommodating. They used their persuasives upon 
the donkeys so vigorously that they — the donkeys — 
started off on a lope, a sort of awkward, lop-sided 
gallop. Now, if there is anything that is beyond the 
ability of Master Jack, especially if he is old, it is to 
canter and at the same time preserve his equilibrium. 
It is evident that he is not built to make a rocking- 
chair of his back bone. So a little comedy was enacted, 
all involuntary on the part of the dramatis persona?. 
Suddenly Turpentine — that was the name of the little 
gray burro ridden by my boy companion — took a 
header, sending his youthful rider sprawling to the 
ground, where he did not remain a moment longer 
than good manners demanded. Fortunately he suc- 
ceeded in disengaging his feet from the stirrups and 
directing his movements in such a way that the animal 
did not fall upon him. But poor Turpentine, what 
of him ? He tumbled clean over his head upon his 
back, and I want to confess in all candor that one of 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 229 

the most instructive and interesting " animal pictures " 
I have ever seen, including those done by Landseer, 
Rosa Bonheur, and Ernest Thompson Seton, was that 
little iron-gray, long-eared donkey lying on his back on 
the street and clawing the air with his hoofs. And 
he clawed fast, too — fairly sawed the air. For once 
in his life Turpentine, the snail paced, was in a hurry ; 
for once he moved with more celerity than grace. It 
threw us into spasms of laughter to see him exert him- 
self so vigorously to reverse his position — to get his 
feet down and his back up. A cat could not have 
done it with more celerity. You never would have 
believed him capable of putting so much vim and vigor 
into his easy-going personality. After chopping the 
air with his hoofs for a second or two, he succeeded 
in righting himself, and was on his feet in less time 
than it takes to tell it. There he stood, as meek as 
Mary's lamb, trying to look as if he had never turned 
an undignified somersault in all his tranquil life. 

We started on our journey again, and presently, to 
our intense relief, reached the border of the town, 
thanked the lads who had expedited our march along 
the street, and proceeded on our way up the valley. 
We soon settled down to taking our burros philosophi- 
cally, and erelong they were going calmly on the even 
tenor of their way. and afterwards we had little trouble 
with them, and actually became quite attached to the 



230 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

gentle creatures before our joint pilgrimage drew to 
an end. 

It is time to pass from quadrupeds to bipeds. While 
our feathered friends were not so abundant in the wilder 
regions as we might have wished, still we had almost 
constant avian companionship along the way. The war- 
bling vireos were especially plentiful, and in full tune, 
making a silvery trail of song beside the dusty road. 
We had them at our elbow as far as Graymont, where 
we made a sharp detour from the open valley, and clam- 
bered along a steep mountain side, with a deep, wooded 
gorge below us. Here the vireos suddenly decided 
that they could escort us no farther, as they had no 
taste for crepuscular canons and alpine heights. Not a 
vireo was seen above Graymont, which has an altitude 
of nearly ten thousand feet. We left them singing in 
the valley as we turned from it, and did not hear them 
again until we came back to Graymont. 

Almost the same may be said of the broad-tailed 
humming-birds, whose insect-like buzzing we heard at 
frequent intervals along the route to a shoulder of the 
mountain a little above Graymont, when it suddenly 
ceased and was heard no more until we returned to 
the same spot a few davs later. House- wrens, willow 
thrushes, Brewer's blackbirds, and long-crested jays were 
also last seen at Graymont, which seemed to be a kind 
of territorial limit for a number of species. 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 231 

However, several species — as species, of course, not 
as individuals — convoyed us all the way from George- 
town to the timber-line and, in some instances, beyond. 
Let me call the roll of these faithful " steadies " : 
Mountain hermit thrushes, gray-headed j uncos, red- 
shafted flickers, pine siskins, western robins, Audubon's 
and Wilson's warblers, mountain bluebirds and white- 
crowned sparrows. Of course, it must be borne in mind 
that these birds were not seen everywhere along the up- 
ward journey, simply in their favorite habitats. The 
deep, pine-shadowed gorges were avoided bv the warblers 
and white-crowned sparrows, whilst every open, sunlit, 
and bushy spot or bosky glen was enlivened by a con- 
tingent of these merry minnesingers. One little bird 
added to our list in the gorge above Graymont was the 
mountain chickadee, which was found thereafter up to 
the timber-line. 

It was sometime in the afternoon when we reached 
Graymont, which we found to be no " mount " at all, as 
we had expected, but a hamlet, now mostly deserted, in 
a narrow valley in sight of several gray mountains loom- 
ing in the distance. Straight up the valley were some 
snow-mantled peaks, but none of them was Gray's ; 
they did not beckon to us from the right direction. 
From the upper part of the hamlet, looking to our left, 
we saw a frowning, snow-clad ridge towering like an 
angry giant in the air, and we cried simultaneously, 



232 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

" Gray's Peak ! " The terrific aspect of that mountain 
sent a momentary shiver through our veins as we 
thought of scaling it without a guide. We were in 
error, as we afterwards found, for the mountain was 
Torrey's Peak, not Gray's, which is not visible from 
Graymont, being hidden by two intervening elevations, 
Mount Kelso and Torrey\s Peak. , There are several 
points about a mile above Graymont from which Gray's 
serene peak is visible, but of this we were not aware 
until on our return trip, when we had learned to rec- 
ognize him by his calm and magisterial aspect. 

As evening drew on, and the westering sun fell below 
the ridges, and the shadows deepened in the gorges, 
making them doubly weird, we began to feel very 
lonely, and, to add to our misgivings, we were uncer- 
tain of our way. The prospect of having to spend a 
cold night out of doors in a solitary place like this w r as 
not very refreshing, I am free to confess, much as one 
might desire to proclaim himself a brave man. Pres- 
ently our eyes were gladdened by the sight of a miner's 
shack just across the hollow, perhaps the one for which 
we were anxiously looking. A man at Graymont had 
told us about a miner up this way, saying he was a 
"nice man 7 ' and would no doubt give us accommoda- 
tion for the night. I crossed the narrow foot-bridge 
that spanned the booming torrent, and found the miner 
at home. Would he give two way-worn travellers a 






HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 233 

place to sleep beneath his roof? We had brought 
plenty of food and some blankets with us, and all we 
required was four walls around us and a roof over our 
heads. Yes, he replied, we were welcome to such ac- 
commodation as he had, and he could even give us a 
bed, though it " was n't very stylish." Those were 
anions: the sweetest and most musical words that ever 
fell on my ear. 

Having tethered our burros in a grassy cove on the 
mountain side, and cooked our supper in the gloaming 
among some rocks by the bank of the brawling stream, 
we turned into the cabin for the night, more than grate- 
ful for a shelter from the chill winds scurrying down 
from the snow-capped mountains. The shack nestled 
at the foot of Mount Kelso, which we had also mistaken 
for Gray's Peak. As we sat by the light of a tallow 
candle, beguiling the evening with conversation, the 
miner told us that the mountain jays, colloquially called 
"camp robbers," were common around his cabin, espe- 
cially in winter ; but familiar as they were, he had never 
been able to find a nest. The one thing about which 
they insist on the utmost privacy is their nesting places. 
My friend also told me that a couple of gray squirrels 
made the woods around his camp their home. The jays 
would frequently carry morsels of food up to the branches 
of the pines, and stow them in some crevice for future 
use, whereupon the squirrels, always on the lookout for 



234 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

their own interests, would scuttle up the tree and steal 
the hidden provender, eating it with many a chuckle of 
self-congratulation. 

Had not the weather turned so cold during the night, 
we might have slept quite comfortably in the miner s 
shack, but I must confess that, though it was the twenty- 
eighth of June and I had a small mountain of cover over 
me, I shivered a good deal toward morning. An hour or 
so after daylight four or five mountain jays came to the 
cabin for their breakfast, flitting to the ground and 
greedily devouring such tidbits as they could find. They 
were not in the least shy. But where were their nests ? 
That was the question that most deeply interested me. 
During the next few davs I made many a long and toil- 
some search for them in the woods and ravines and on 
the steep mountain sides, but none of the birds invited 
me to their houses. These birds know how to keep a 
secret. Anything but feathered Apollos, they have a 
kind of ghoulish aspect, making you think of the appa- 
ritional as they move in their noiseless way among the 
shadowing pines. There is a look in their dark, deep- 
set eyes and about their thick, clumpy heads which 
gives you a feeling that they might be equal to any 
imaginable act of cruelty. Yet I cannot say I dislike 
these mountain roustabouts, for some of their talk among 
themselves is very tender and affectionate, proving that, 
" whatever brawls disturb the street," there are love and 



HO! FOR GRAYS PEAK! 235 

concord in jay household circles. That surely is a virtue 
to be commended, and cannot be claimed for every 
family, either avian or human. 

At 4.30 that morning I crept out of bed and climbed 
far up one of the mountain sides — this was before the 
jays came to the cabin. The wind blew so icy from the 
snow-clad heights that I was only too glad to wear 
woollen gloves and pin a bandanna handkerchief around 
my neck, besides buttoning up my coat collar. Even 
then I shivered. But would you believe it ? The mos- 
quitoes were as lively and active as if a balmy breeze 
were blowing from Arcady, puncturing me wherever 
they could find a vulnerable spot, and even thrusting 
their sabres through my thick woollen gloves into the 
flesh. They must be extremely hardy insects, for I am 
sure such arctic weather would send the mosquitoes of 
our lower altitudes into their winter hiding-places. 
People who think there are no mosquitoes in the Rockies 
are reckoning without their hosts. In many places they 
assaulted us by the myriad until life among them became 
intolerable, and some were found even in the neighbor- 
hood of perpetual snow. 

Raw as the morning was, the hermit thrushes, moun- 
tain chickadees, Audubon's warblers, gray-headed j un- 
cos, and ruby-crowned kinglets were giving a lively 
rehearsal. How shy they were ! They preferred being 
heard, not seen. Unexpectedly I found a hermit thrush's 



236 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

nest set in plain sight in a pine bush. One would have 
thought so shy a bird would make some attempt at 
concealment. It was a well-constructed domicile, com- 
posed of grass, twigs, and moss, but without mortar. 
The shy owner was nowhere to be seen, nor did she make 
any outcry, even though I stood for some minutes close 
to her nest. What stolidity the mountain birds dis- 
play ! You could actually rob the nests of some of them 
without wringing a chirp from them. On two later 
visits to the place I found Madame Thrush on her nest, 
where she sat until I came quite close, when she silently 
flitted away and ensconced herself among the pines, 
never chirping a syllable of protest or fear. In the 
bottom of the pretty crib lay four deep -blue eggs. 
Afterwards I found one more hermit's nest, which was 
just in process of construction. In this case, as in the 
first, no effort was made at concealment, the nest being 
placed in the crotch of a quaking asp a rod or so above 
the trail, from which it could be plainly seen. The 
little madame was carrying a load of timbers to her 
cottage as we went down the trail, and sat in the nest 
moulding and putting her material in place as I climbed 
up the steep bank to inspect her work. Then she flew 
away, making no demonstration while I examined the 
nest. 

Having eaten our breakfast at the miner's cabin, my 
youthful companion and I mounted our " gayly capari- 






HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 237 

soned steeds," and resumed our journey toward Gray's 
Peak. The birds just mentioned greeted us with their 
salvos as we crept along. It was not until we had almost 
reached the timber-line that Gray's Peak loomed in 
sight, solemn and majestic, photographed against the 
cobalt sky, with its companion-piece, Torrey's Peak, 
standing sullen beside it. The twin peaks were pointed 
out to us by another miner whom we met at his shack just 
a little below the timber-line, and who obligingly gave us 
permission to " bunk " in one of the cabins of what is 
known as " Stephen's mine," which is now abandoned — 
or was at the time of our visit. Near the timber-line, 
where the valley opens to the sunlight, we found a 
mountain bluebird flitting about some old, deserted 
buildings, but, strangely enough, this was the last time 
we saw him, although we looked for him again and 
again. Nor did we see another mountain blue in this 
alpine eyrie. 

Our burros were tethered for the day in a grassy hol- 
low, our effects stowed away in the cabin aforesaid, 
which we had leased for a few days ; then, with luncheon 
strapped over our shoulders and butterfly net and field- 
glass in hand, we started happily up the valley afoot 
toward the summit of our aspirations, Gray's Peak, ris- 
ing fourteen thousand four hundred and forty-one feet 
above the level of the sea. In some scrubby pine bushes 
above timber-line several Audubon's warblers were flit- 



238 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

ting and singing* living hard by the white fields of snow. 
Still farther up the hollow Wilson's warblers were trill- 
ing blithely, proclaiming themselves yet more venture- 
some than their gorgeous cousins, the Audubons. 
There is reason for this difference, for Wilson's warblers 
nest in willows and other bushes which thrive on higher 
ground and nearer the snowy zone than do the pines to 
which Audubon's warblers are especially attached. At 
all events, Sylvania pusilla was one of the two species 
which accompanied us all the way from Georgetown to 
the foot of Gray's Peak, giving us a kind of " person- 
ally conducted " journey. 

Our other brave escorts were the white-crowned spar- 
rows, which pursued the narrowing valleys until they 
were merged into the snowy gorges that rive the sides 
of the towering twin peaks. In the arctic gulches the 
scrubby copses came to an end, and therefore the white- 
crowns ascended no higher, for they are, in a pre-eminent 
sense, " birds of the bush." Subsequently I found them 
as far up the sides of Mount Kelso as the thickets ex- 
tended, which was hundreds of feet higher than the 
snow-bound gorges just mentioned, for Kelso receives 
more sunshine than his taller companions, particularly 
on his eastern side. Brave birds are these handsome 
and musical sparrows. It was interesting to see them 
hopping about on the snow-fields, picking up dainties 
from the white crystals. How lyrical they were in this 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 239 

upper mountain valley ! As has been said, for some 
unaccountable reason the white-crowns in the vicinity 
of Georgetown were quite chary of their music. Not so 
those that dwelt in the valley below Gray's and Torrey's 
peaks, for there they trilled their melodious measures 
with a richness and abandon that were enchanting. 

On reaching the snow-belt, though still a little below 
the limit of copsy growths, we saw our first pipits, 
which, it will be remembered, I had encountered on the 
summit of Pike's Peak two years before. In our climb 
up Gray's Peak we found the pipit realm and that of the 
white-crowned sparrows slightly overlapping. As soon, 
however, as we began the steep climb above the mat- 
ted copses, the white-crowns disappeared and the pipits 
grew more abundant. At frequent intervals these birds 
would suddenly start up from the ground, utter their 
protesting " Te-cheer ! te-cheer ! " and hurl themselves 
recklessly across a snowy gulch, or dart high into the 
air and let their semi-musical calls drop and dribble 
from the turquoise depths of the sky. Did the pipits 
accompany you to the summit of the peak ? I half re- 
gret to admit that they did not, but ceased to appear a 
good while before the summit was attained. This is all 
the more remarkable when it is remembered that these 
birds were extremely abundant on the crest of Pike's 
Peak, where they behaved in a " very-much-at-home " 
way. 



240 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

However, there was ample compensation in the ascent 
of Gray's Peak. As we clambered up the steep and 
rugged side of the mountain, sometimes wading snow 
up to our knees, then making a short cut straight up 
the acclivity to avoid the snow-banks, unable to follow 
the trail a large part of the way, we were suddenly made 
aware of the presence of another fearless feathered com- 
rade. With a chirp that was the very quintessence of 
good cheer and lightness of heart, he hopped about on 
the snow, picking dainties from his immaculate table- 
cloth, and permitting us to approach him quite close 
before he thought it worth while to take to wing. We 
were happy indeed to meet so companionable a little 
friend, one that, amid these lonely and awe-inspiring 
heights, seemed to feel so much at ease and exhibited 
so confiding a disposition. Was it fancy or was it 
really true ? He appeared to be giving us a hospitable 
welcome to his alpine home, telling us we might ven- 
ture upward into cloudland or skyland without peril ; 
then, to make good his assurance, he mounted upward 
on resilient wings to prove how little danger there was. 
We were doubly glad for our little seer, for just then 
we needed someone to " prophesy smooth things " to us. 
The bird was the brown-capped leucosticte or rosv finch. 
Thus far I have used the singular number, but the 
plural would have been more accurate, for there were 
many of these finches on the acclivity and summit, all 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 241 

of them in a most cheerful mood, their good will and 
cordial welcome giving us a pleasant feeling of com- 
radery as we journeyed together up the mountain side. 

Our climb up Gray's Peak was a somewhat memor- 
able event in our experience, and I am disposed to 
dwell upon it. The valley which we had followed ter- 
minates in a deep gorge, filled with drift snow the year 
round, no doubt, and wedging itself between Gray's and 
Torrey's shoulders and peaks. Here the melting snows 
form the head waters of Clear Creek, whose sinuous 
course we had followed by rail, foot, and burro from 
the city of Denver. 

The trail, leaving the ravine, meandered up a shoul- 
der of the mountain, wheeled to the left and crept along 
a ridge, with some fine, blood-curdling abysses on the 
eastern side ; then went zigzagging back and forth on 
the precipitous wall of Gray's titanic mount, until at 
last, with a long pull and a strong pull, it scaled the 
backbone of the ridge. All this, however, is much more 
easily told than done. Later in the season, when the 
trail is clear of snow-drifts, sure-footed horses and burros 
are ridden to the summit ; but we were too early to 
follow the trail even on foot. Indeed, many persons 
familiar with the mountains had declared that we could 
not reach the top so early in the season, on account of 
the large snowbanks that still covered the trail. Even 
the old miner, who in the valley below pointed out the 

16 



242 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

peak to us, expressed grave doubts about the success 
and wisdom of our undertaking. " See ! " he said, " the 
trail 's covered with snow in many places on the moun- 
tain side. I 'm afraid you can't reach the top, sir.' I 
did not see as clearly as he did, but said nothing aloud. 
In my mind I shouted, " Excelsior ! " and then added, 
mentally, of course, " Faint heart never won fair ladv 
or fairer mountain's crest — hurrah for the peak ! " I 
simply felt that if there were birds and butterflies on 
that sky-aspiring tower, I must see them. The die was 
cast ; we had come to Colorado expressly to climb Gray's 
Peak, and climb it we would, or have some good reason 
to give for not doing so. 

And now we were making the attempt. We had 
scarcely reached the mountain's shoulder before we 
were obliged to wade snow. For quite a distance 
we were able to creep along the edge of the trail, or 
skirt the snow-beds by making short detours, and 
then returning to the trail ; but by and by we came 
to a wide, gleaming snow-field that stretched right 
athwart our path and brought us to a standstill with 
the exclamation, " What shall we do now ? " Having 
already sunk a number of times into the snow over our 
boot-tops, we felt that it would not be safe to venture 
across so laro;e an area of soft and treacherous crystals 
melting in the afternoon sun and only slightly covering 
we knew not what deep gorges. In some places we 






HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 243 

had been able to walk on the top of the snow, but 
elsewhere it was quite soft, and we could hear the 
gurgling of water underneath, and sometimes it sounded 
a little more sepulchral than we liked. Looking far 
up the acclivity, we saw still larger snow-fields obliter- 
ating the trail. " We can never cross those snow- 
fields," one of us declared, a good deal of doubt in his 
tones. A moment's reflection followed, and then the 
other exclaimed stoutly, "Let us climb straight up, 
then ! " To which his companion replied, " All right, 
little Corporal ! Beyond the Alps lies Italy ! " 

Over rocks and stones and stretches of gravel, some- 
times loose, sometimes solid, we clambered, half the 
time on all fours, skirting the snow-fields that lay in 
our unblazed pathway ; on and up, each cheering the 
other at frequent intervals by crying lustily, " We can 
make it ! We can make it ! " ever and anon throwing 
ourselves on the rocks to recover our breath and rest 
our aching limbs ; on and up we scrambled and crept, 
like ants on a wall, until at length, reaching the ridge 
at the left a little below the top, we again struck the 
trail, when we stopped a few minutes to catch breath, 
made one more mighty effort, and, behold ! we stood 
on Grav's summit, looking down triumphantly at the 
world crouching at our feet. Never before had we felt 
so much like Jupiter on Olympus. 

In making the ascent, some persons, even among 



GRAY'S AND TORREY'S PEAKS 

GraY'S to the left, Torreys to the right. As the lookout 
of the photographer was nearer Torreys than Grays, the 
former appears the higher in the picture, while the reverse 
is really the case. The trail winds through a ravine at the 
right of the ridge in front ; then creeps along the farther 
side of the ridge above the gorge at Torreys base ; comes to the 
crest of the ridge pretty well toward the left ; then crawls and 
zigzags back and forth along the titanic wall of Grays to the 
summit. In the vale, where some of the head waters of Clear 
Creek will be seen, the white-crowned spari'ows and Wilson s 
warblers find homes. A little before the ascent of the ridge 
begins, the first pipits are seen ; thence the clamberer has pipit 
company to the point where the ridge joins the main bulk of the 
mountain. Here the pipits stop, and the first leucostictes are 
noted, which, chirping cheeiily all the way, escort the traveller 
to the summit. 






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246 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

those who ride, become sick ; others suffer with bleed- 
ing at the nose, and others are so overcome with ex- 
haustion and weakness that they cannot enjoy the 
superb panorama spread out before them. However 
you may account for it, my youthful comrade and I, 
in spite of our arduous climb, were in excellent physical 
condition when we reached our goal, suffering no pain 
whatever in eyes, head, or lungs. The bracing air, 
rare as it was, soon exhilarated us, our temporary 
weariness disappeared, and we were in the best of trim 
for scouring the summit, pursuing our natural history 
hobbies, and revelling in the inspiring cyclorama that 
Nature had reared for our delectation. 

My pen falters when I think of describing the scene 
that broke upon our vision. I sigh and wish the task 
were done. The summit itself is a narrow ridge on 
which you may stand and look down the declivities on 
both sides, scarcely having to step out of your tracks 
to do so. It is quite different from the top of Pike's 
Peak, which is a comparatively level plateau several 
acres in extent, carpeted, if one may so speak, with 
immense granite rocks piled upon one another or laid 
side by side in semi-systematic order ; whereas Grav's, 
as has been said, is a narrow ridge, composed chief! y 
of comparatively small stones, with a sprinkling of 
good-sized boulders. The finer rocks give the impres- 
sion of having been ground down by crushing and 






HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK: 247 

attrition to their present dimensions in the far-away, 
prehistoric ages. 

A short distance to the northwest frowned Torrey's 
Peak, Gray's companion-piece, the twain being con- 
nected by a ridge which dips in an arc perhaps a 
hundred feet below the summits. The ridge was 
covered with a deep drift of snow, looking as frigid 
and unyielding as a scene in the arctic regions. Torrey's 
is only a few feet lower than Gray's — one of my books 
says five. Mention has been made of its forbidding 
aspect. It is indeed one of the most ferocious-looking 
mountains in the Rockies, its crown pointed and grim, 
helmeted with snow, its sides, especially east and north, 
seamed and ridged and jagged, the gorges filled with 
snow, the beetling cliffs jutting dark and threatening, 
bearing huge drifts upon their shoulders. Torrey's 
Peak actually seemed to be calling over to us like 
some boastful Hercules, " Ah, ha ! you have climbed my 
mild-tempered brother, but I dare you to climb me ! " 
For reasons of our own we declined the challenge. 

The panorama from Gray's Peak is one to inspire 
awe and dwell forever in the memory, an alpine wonder- 
land indeed and in truth. To the north, northwest, 
and west there stretches, as far as the eye can reach, a 
vast wilderness of snowy peaks and ranges, many of them 
with a rosy glow in the sunshine, tier upon tier, terrace 
above terrace, here in serried ranks, there in isolated 



PANORAMA FROM GRAYS PEAK — XORTH WEST 

The picture includes the northern spur of Grays Peak, with 
the dismantled signal station on its crest. The main ridge 
of the peak extends out to the left of the signal station. 
The summit is so situated as to be exposed to the sun the 
greater part of the day ; hence, although it is the highest 
point in the region, there is less snow upon it in summer than 
upon many of the surrounding elevations. Looking northwest 
from the signal station, the eye falls upon a wilderness of snow- 
clad peaks and ranges, some standing in serried ranks, others in 
picturesque disorder. It is truly an arctic scene, summer or 
winter. Yet it is the summer home of the brown-capped leu- 
costicte and the white-tailed ptarmigan, which range in hapjjy 
freedom over the upper story of our country. 










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i 







250 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

grandeur, some just beyond the dividing canons, others 
fifty, sixty, a hundred miles away, cyclopean, majestic, 
infinite. Far to the north, Long's Peak lifts his seamed 
and hoary pyramid, almost as high as the crest on 
which we are standing ; in the west rise that famous 
triad of peaks, Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, their 
fanelike towers, sketched against the sky, disputing 
the palm with old Gray himself; while a hundred miles 
to the south Pike's Peak stands solitary and smiling in 
the sun, seeming to say, " I am sufficient unto myself ! " 
Between our viewpoint and the last-named mountain 
lies South Park, like a paradise of green immured by 
guardian walls of rock and snow, and far to the east, 
beyond the billowing ranges, white, gray, and green, 
stretch the limitless plains, vanishing in the hazy dis- 
tance. In such surroundings one's breast throbs and 
swells with the thought of Nature's omnipotence. 

The summit of Gray's Peak is a favorable viewpoint 
from which to study the complexion, the idiosyncrasies, 
if you please, of individual mountains, each of which 
seems to have a personality of its own. Here is Gray's 
Peak itself, calm, smiling, good-natured as a summer 
morning; yonder is Torrey's, next-door neighbor, cruel, 
relentless, defiant, always threatening with cyclone or 
tornado, or forging the thunder-bolts of Vulcan. Some 
mountains appear grand and dignified, others look like 
spitfires. On one side some bear smooth and green 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 251 

slopes almost to the top, while the other is scarred, 
craggy, and precipitous. 

The day was serene and beautiful, the sky a deep 
indigo, unflecked with clouds, save a few filmy wracks 
here and there, and the breeze as balmy as that of a 
May morning in my native State. So quiet was the 
alpine solitude that on all sides we could hear the 
solemn roar of the streams in the ravines hundreds of 
feet below, some of them in one key and some in 
another, making almost a symphony. For several 
hours we tarried, held by a spell. " But you have for- 
gotten your ornithology ! " some one reminds me. No 
one could blame me if I had. Such, however, is not 
the case, for ornithology, like the poor, is never far 
from some of us. The genial little optimists that had 
been hopping about on the snow on the declivities had 
acted as our cicerones clear to the summit, and some of 
them remained there while we tarried. Indeed the leu- 
costictes were quite plentiful on the mountain's brow. 
Several perched on the dismantled walls of the aban- 
doned government building on the summit, called cheer- 
ily, then wheeled about over the crest, darted out and 
went careering over the gulches with perfect aplomb, 
while we watched them with envious eyes, wishing we 
too had wings like a leucosticte, not that we " might 
fly away," as the Psalmist longed to do, but that we 
might scale the mountains at our own sweet will. The 



252 



BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 




,r :> 



Thistle Butterfly 



Western f 
White ^p 



k- 



favorite occupation of our little comrades, besides fly- 
ing, was hopping about on the snow and picking up 
dainties that were evidently palatable. Afterwards we 
examined the snow, and found several kinds of small 
beetles and other insects creeping up through it or 
about on its surface. Without doubt these were leu- 
costicte's choice morsels. Thus Nature spreads her 
table everywhere with loving care for her feathered 
children. The general habits of the rosy finches are 
elsewhere depicted in this volume. It only remains 
to be said that they were much more abundant and 
familiar on Gray's Peak than on Pike's Peak, — that is, 
at the time of my respective visits to those summits. 
To omit all mention of the butterflies seen on this 
jl trip would be proof of avian monomania with a 
J ' r Ws? vengeance. The lad who was with me found 
a number of individuals of two species zig- 
zagging over the summit, and occasionally settling upon 
the rocks right by the fields of snow. What kind of 



HO! FOR GRAY'S PEAK! 253 

nectar they sipped I know not, for there were no flowers 
or verdure on the heights. They were the Painted 
Lady or Thistle Butterfly (Pyrameis cardui) and the 
Western White (Pieris occidentalis). He captured an 
individual of the latter species with his net, and to-day 
it graces his collection, a memento of a hard but glori- 
ous climb. The descent of the mountain was laborious 
and protracted, including some floundering in the snow, 
but was accomplished without accident. A warm sup- 
per in the miner's shack which we had leased prepared 
us for the restful slumbers of the night. 

Although the weather was so cold that a thin coat- 
ing of ice was formed on still water out of doors, the 
next morning the white-crowned sparrows were singing 
their sonatas long before dawn, and when at peep of day 
I stepped outside, they were flitting about the cabins 
as if in search of their breakfast. The evening before, 
I left the stable-door open while I went to bring the 
burros up from their grazing plat. When I returned 
with the animals, a white-crown flew out of the build- 
ing just as I stepped into the entrance, almost fluttering 
against my feet, and chirping sharply at what he seemed 
to think a narrow escape. He had doubtless gone into 
the stable on a foraging expedition. 

The day was spent in exploring the valley and steep 
mountain sides. A robin's nest was found a little below 
the timber-line on the slope of Mount Kelso. In the 



254 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

woods a short distance farther down, a gray-headed 
j unco's nest was discovered after a good deal of patient 
waiting. A female was preening her feathers on a 
small pine-tree, a sure sign that she had recently come 
from brooding her eggs. Presently she began to flit 
about from the tree to the ground and back again, 
making many feints and starts, which proved that she 
was embarrassed by my espionage ; but at last she dis- 
appeared and did not return. With quickened pulse I 
approached the place where I had last seen her. It was 
not long before she flew up with a nervous chirp, reveal- 
ing a pretty domicile under a roof of green grass, with 
four daintily speckled eggs on the concave floor. I 
noticed especially that the doorway of the tiny cottage 
was open toward the morning sun. 

At the timber-line there were ruby-crowned kinglets, 
mountain chickadees, and gray-headed j uncos, while 
far above this wavering boundary a pair of red-shafted 
flickers were observed ambling about among the bushes 
and watching me as intently as I was watching them. 
I climbed far up the side of Mount Kelso, then around 
its rocky shoulder, following an old trail that led to 
several abandoned silver mines, but no new birds 
rewarded my toilsome quest, although I was pleased 
to learn that the pipits and leucostictes did not give 
the " go-by " to this grand old mountain, but performed 
their thrilling calisthenics in the air about its slopes 



HO ! FOR GRAY'S PEAK ! 



255 



and ravines with as much grace as they did on the lof- 
tier mountain peaks the day before. A beautiful fox 
and three cubs were seen among the large stones, and 




Junco 

u Under 
a roof of 
green grass " 



many mountain rats and a sly mink went scuttling 
about over the rocks. 

On the morning of June 30 the white-crowns, as 
usual, were chanting their litanies long before dav 
broke. We left the enchanting valley that morning, 
the trills of the white-crowns ringing in the alpenglow 
like a sad farewell, as if they felt that we should never 
meet again. On our way down the winding road we 



256 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

frequently turned to gaze with longing eyes upon the 
snowy summits of the twin peaks, Gray's all asmile in 
the sunshine, and Torrey's — or did we only imagine 
it ? — relenting a little now that he was looking upon 
us for the last time. Did the mountains and the white- 
crowns call after us, " Auf wiedersehen ! " or was that 
only imagination too ? 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 

ONE of our pleasantest trips was taken up South 
Platte Canon, across South Park, and over the 
range to Breckenridge. The town lies in the 
valley of the Blue River, the famous Ten Mile Range, 
with its numerous peaks and bold and rugged contour, 
standing sentinel on the west. Here we found many 
birds, but as few of them were new, I need not stop to 
enter into special detail. 

At the border of the town I found my first green- 
tailed towhee's nest, which will be described in the last 
chapter. A pair of mountain bluebirds had snuggled 
their nest in a cranny of one of the cottages, and an 
entire family of blues were found on the pine-clad slope 
beyond the stream ; white-crowned sparrows were plen- 
tiful in the copses and far up the bushy ravines and 
mountain sides ; western chippies rang their silvery 
peals ; violet-green swallows wove their invisible fabrics 
overhead ; juncos and Audubon's warblers proclaimed 
their presence in many a remote ingle by their little 
trills ; and Brewer's blackbirds " chacked " their remon- 

259 



260 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

strance at every intrusion into their demesnes ; while in 
many a woodsy or bushy spot the long-crested jays 
rent the air with their raucous outcries ; nor were the 
broad-tailed hummers wanting on this side of the range, 
and of course their saucy buzzing was heard wherever 
they darted through the air. 

An entire day was spent in ascending and descending 
Peak Number Eight, one of the boldest of the jutting 
crags of the Ten Mile Range ; otherwise it is called 
Tillie Ann, in honor of the first white woman known to 
scale its steep and rugged wall to the summit. She 
must have been a brave and hardy woman, and cer- 
tainly deserves a monument of some kind in memory 
of her achievement, although it falls to the lot of 
few persons to have their deeds celebrated by a tower- 
ing mountain for a memorial. While not as high by 
at least a thousand feet as Gray's Peak, it was fully as 
difficult of access. A high ridge of snow, which we sur- 
mounted with not a little pride and exhilaration, lay on 
its eastern acclivity within a few feet of the crest, a 
white crystalline bank gleaming in the sun. The winds 
hurtling; over the summit were as cold and fierce as old 
Boreas himself, so that I was glad to wear woollen 
gloves and button my coat-collar close around my neck ; 
yet it was the Fourth of July, when the people of the 
East were sweltering in the intense heat of their low 
altitudes. It was a surprise to us to find the wind so 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 26l 

much colder here than it had been on the twenty-eighth 
of June on the summit of Gray's Peak, which is con- 
siderably farther north. However, there may be times 
when the meteorological conditions of the two peaks 
are reversed, blowing a gale on Gray's and whispering 
a zephyr on Tillie Ann. 

The usual succession of birds was seen as we toiled 
up the slopes and steep inclines, some stopping at the 
timber-line and others extending their range far up 
toward the alpine zone. In the pine belt below the 
timber-line a pair of solitaires were observed flitting 
about on the ground and the lower branches of the 
trees, but vouchsafing no song. In the same woodland 
the mountain jays held carnival — a bacchanalian revel, 
judging from the noise they made ; the ruby-crowned 
kinglets piped their galloping roundels ; a number of 
wood-pewees — western species — were screeching, think- 
ing themselves musical ; siskins were flitting about, 
though not as numerous as they had been in the piny 
regions below Gray's Peak ; and here for the first time 
I saw olive-sided flycatchers among the mountains. I 
find by consulting Professor Cooke that their breeding 
range is from seven thousand to twelve thousand feet. 
A few juncos and ruby-crowned kinglets were seen 
above the timber-line, while many white-crowned spar- 
rows, some of them singing blithely, climbed as far up 
the mountain side as the stunted copses extended. 



262 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Oddly enough, no leueostictes were seen on this peak. 
Why they should make their homes on Pike's and Gray's 
Peaks and neglect Tillie Ann is another of those puzzles 
in featherdom that cannot be solved. Must a peak be 
over fourteen thousand feet above sea-level to meet 
their physiological wants in the summery season ? Who 
can tell ? There were pipits on this range, but, for 
some reason that was doubtless satisfactory to them- 
selves, they were much shyer than their brothers and 
sisters had been on Gray's Peak and Mount Kelso ; more 
than that, they were seen only on the slopes of the 
range, none of them being observed on the crest itself, 
perhaps on account of the cold, strong gale that was 
blowing across the snowy heights. A nighthawk was 
sailing in its erratic course over the peaks — a bit of 
information worth noting, none of these birds having 
been seen on any of the summits fourteen thousand feet 
high. These matters are perhaps not of supreme inter- 
est, yet they have their value as studies in comparative 
ornithology and are helpful in determining the locale of 
the several species named. In the same interest I desire 
to add that mountain chickadees, hermit thrushes, 
warbling vireos, and red-shafted flickers belong to my 
Breckenridge list. Besides, what I think must have 
been a Mexican crossbill was seen one morning among 
the pines, and also a large hawk and two kinds of wood- 
peckers, none of which tarried long enough to permit 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 263 

me to make sure of their identity. The crossbill — if 
the individual seen was a bird of that species — wore a 
reddish jacket, explored the pine cones, and sang a very 
respectable song somewhat on the grosbeak order, quite 
blithe, loud, and cheerful. 

On our return trip to Denver we stopped for a couple 
of days at the quiet village of Jefferson in South Park, 
and we shall never cease to be thankful that our good 
fairies led us to do so. What birds, think you, find 
residence in a green, well-watered park over nine thou- 
sand feet above sea-level, hemmed in by towering, snow- 
clad mountains ? Spread out around you like a cyclorama 
lies the plateau as you descend the mountain side from 
Kenosha Pass ; or wheel around a lofty spur of Mount 
Boreas, and you almost feel as if you must be entering 
Paradise. It was the fifth of July, and the park had 
donned its holiday attire, the meadows wearing robes of 
emerald, dappled here and there with garden spots of 
variegated flowers that brought more than one excla- 
mation of delight from our lips. 

Before leaving the village, our attention was called to 
a colony of cliff-swallows, the first we had seen in our 
touring among the mountains. Against the bare wall 
beneath the eaves of a barn they had plastered their 
adobe, bottle-shaped domiciles, hundreds of them, some 
in orderly rows, others in promiscuous clusters. At 
dusk, when we returned to the village, the birds were 



'■.£> 



SOUTH PARK FROM KENOSHA HILL 

A paradise of green engirdled by snow-mantled mountains, 
making a summer home for western meadow-larks, Brewer s 
blackbirds, desert horned larks, and western Savanna sparrows. 



266 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

going to bed, and it was interesting to watch their 
method of retiring. The young were already grown, 
and the entire colony were converting their nests into 
sleeping berths, every one of them occupied, some of the 
partly demolished ones by two and three birds. But 
there were not enough couches to go round, and several 
of the birds were crowded out, and were clinging to the 
side of the wall on some of the protuberances left from 
their broken-down clay huts. It was a query in my 
mind whether they could sleep comfortably in that 
strained position, but I left thein to settle that matter 
for themselves and in their own way. 

Leaving the town, we soon found that the irrigated 
meadows and bush-fringed banks of the stream made 
habitats precisely to the taste of Brewers blackbirds, 
which were quite plentiful in the park. My companion 
was " in clover," for numerous butterflies went undulat- 
ing over the meadows, leading him many a headlong 
chase, but frequently getting themselves captured in his 
net. Thus occupied, he left me to attend to the birds. 
At the border of the village a little bird that was new 
to me flitted into view and permitted me to identify it 
with my glass. The little stranger was the western 
savanna sparrow. South Park was the only place in 
my Colorado rambles where I found this species, and 
even his eastern representative is known to me very im- 
perfectly and only as a migrant. The park was fairly 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 267 

alive with savannas, especially in the irrigated portions. 
I wonder how many millions of them dwelt in this vast 
Eden of green almost twice as large as the State of 
Connecticut ! The little cocks were incessant singers, 
their favorite perches being the wire fences, or weeds 
and grass tufts in the pastures. Their voices are weak, 
but very sweet, and almost as fine as the sibilant buzz 
of certain kinds of insects. The pretty song opens with 
two or three somewhat prolonged syllables, running 
quite high, followed by a trill much lower in the scale, 
and closes with a very fine, double-toned strain, delivered 
with the rising inflection and a kind of twist or jerk — 
" as if," say my notes, " the little lyrist were trying to 
tie a knot in his aria before letting it go." More will 
be said about these charming birds before the end of 
this chapter. 

The western meadow-larks were abundant in the park, 
delivering with great gusto their queer, percussive 
chants, which, according to my notes, " so often sound 
as if the birds were trying to crack the whip." The 
park was the only place above the plains and mesas 
where I found these gifted fluters, with the exception 
of the park about Buena Vista. It would appear that 
the narrow mountain valleys, green and grassy though 
they are, do not appeal to the larks for summer homes ; 
no, they seem to crave " ampler realms and spaces " in 
which to spread their wings and chant their dithyrambs. 



268 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Where the natural streams and irrigating ditches do 
not reach the soil of the park it is as dry and parched 
as the plains and mesas. In fact, the park is only a 
smaller and higher edition of the plains, the character 
of the soil and the topography of the land in both 
regions being identical. Never in the wet, fresh 
meadows, whether of plain or park, only on the arid 
slopes and hillocks, will you find the desert horned larks, 
which are certainly true to their literary cognomen, if 
ever birds were. How they revel in the desert ! How 
scrupulously they draw the line on the moist and emer- 
ald areas ! Surely there are " many birds of many 
kinds," and one might appropriately add, " of many 
minds," as well ; for, while the blackbirds and savanna 
sparrows eschew the desert, the horned larks show the 
same dislike for the meadow. In shallow pits dug by 
themselves amid the sparse buffalo grass, the larks set 
their nests. The young had already left their nurse- 
ries at the time of my visit to the park, but were still 
receiving their rations from the beaks of their elders. 
On a level spot an adult male with an uncommonly 
strong voice for this species was hopping about on the 
ground and reciting his canticles. Seeing I was a 
stranger and evidently interested in all sorts of avian 
exploits, he decided to give an exhibition of what might 
be called sky-soloing, as well as dirigible ballooning. 
Starting up obliquely from the ground, he continued to 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 269 

ascend in a series of upward leaps, making a kind of 
aerial stairway, up, up, on and up, until he was about 
the size of a humming-bird framed against the blue 
dome of the sky. So far did he plunge into the ceru- 
lean depths that I could just discern the movement of 
his wings. While scaling the air he did not sing, but 
having reached the proper altitude, he opened his man- 
dibles and let his ditty filtrate through the ether like a 
shower of spray. It could be heard quite plainly, 
although at best the lark's song is a weak, indefinite 
twitter, its peculiar characteristic being its carrying 
quality, which is indeed remarkable. 

The soloist circled around and around in the upper air 
so long that I grew dizzy watching him, and my eyes be- 
came blinded by the sun and the glittering sky. How 
long he kept up his aerial evolutions, singing all the 
while, I am unprepared to announce, for I was too much 
engrossed in watching him to consult my timepiece; 
but the performance lasted so long that I was finally 
obliged to throw myself on my back on the ground to 
relieve the strain upon me, so that I might continue to 
follow his movements. I venture the conjecture that 
the show lasted from fifteen to twenty minutes ; at least, 
it seemed that long to me in my tense state of body and 
mind. Finally he shot down like an arrow, making my 
head fairly whirl, and landed lightly on the ground, 
where he skipped about and resumed his roundelay as 



270 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

if he had not performed an extraordinary feat. This 
was certainly skylarking in a most literal sense. With 
the exception of a similar exhibition by Townsend's soli- 
taire — to be described in the closing chapter — up in 
the neighborhood of Gray's Peak, it was the most won- 
derful avian aeronautic exploit, accompanied with song, 
of which I have ever been witness. It is odd, too, that 
a bird which is so much of a groundling — I use the 
term in a good sense, of course — should also be so 
expert a sky-scraper. I had listened to the skv song of 
the desert horned lark out on the plain, but there he 
did not hover long in the air. 

The killdeer plovers are as noisy in the park as they 
are in an eastern pasture-field, and almost as plentiful. 
In the evening near the village a pair of western robins 
and a thieving magpie had a hard tussle along the fence 
of the road. The freebooter was carrying something in 
his beak which looked sadly like a callow nestling. He 
tried to hide in the fence-corners, to give himself a 
chance to eat his morsel, but they were hot on his trail, 
and at length he flew off toward the distant ridge. 
Where did the robins build their nests ? I saw no trees 
in the neighborhood, but no doubt they built their adobe 
huts on a fence-rail or in a nook about an old building. 
Not a Say's phoebe had we thus far seen on this jaunt 
to the mountains, but here was a family near the vil- 
lage, and, sure enough, they were whistling their likely 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 



271 






tunes, the first time I had ever heard them. While I 
had met with these birds at Glenwood and in the valley 
below Leadville, they had not vouchsafed a song. 
What is the tune they whistle ? Why, to be sure, it is, 
" Phe-be-e ! phe-be-e ! phe-e-e-bie ! " Their voices are 
stronger and more mellifluent than the eastern phcebe's, 
but the manner of delivery is not so sprightly and glad- 
some. Indeed, if I mistake not, there is a pensive strain 
in the lay of the western bird. 

A feAv cowbirds, red-winged blackbirds, and spotted 
sandpipers were seen in the park, but they are too famil- 
iar to merit more than casual mention. However, let 
us return to Brewer's blackbirds. Closely as they 
resemble the bronzed grackles of the East, there are some 
marked differences between the eastern and western 
birds ; the westerners are not so large, and their man- 
ners and nesting habits are more like those of the 
redwings than the grackles. Brewer's blackbirds 
hover overhead as you come into the neighborhood 
of their nests or young, and the males utter their 
caveats in short squeals or screeches and the 
females in harsh "chacks." 



The nests are set in 



bushes and 





even on the ground, while those of 
the grackles are built 
in trees and some- 
times in cavities. To 



Magpie 
and 

Western 
Robins 



" They were hot on 
his trail" 



272 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

be exact and scientific, Brewer's blackbirds belong to 
the genus Icolecophagus, and the grackles to the genus 
Quiscalus. In the breeding season the western birds 
remain in the park. That critical period over, in 
August and September large flocks of them, including 
young and old, ascend to favorite feeding haunts far 
above the timber-line, ranging over the slopes of the 
snowy mountains engirdling their summer home. Then 
they are in the heyday of blackbird life. Silverspot 
himself, made famous by Ernest Thompson Seton, did 
not lead a more romantic and adventurous life, and I 
hope some day Brewer's blackbird will be honored by 
a no less effective biography. 

What a to-do they make when you approach their 
outdoor hatchery ! Yet they are sly and diplomatic. 
One day I tried my best to find a nest with eggs or 
bantlings in it, but failed, although, as a slight com- 
pensation, I succeeded in discovering three nests from 
which the young had flown. The old birds of both 
sexes circled overhead, called and pleaded and scolded, 
and sometimes swooped down quite close to my scalp, 
always veering off in time to avoid actual collision. A 
pair of them held choice morsels — choice for Brewer's 
blackbirds — in their bills, and I sat down on a tuft of 
sod and watched them for a couple of hours, hoping 
they would feed their young in plain sight and divulge 
their secret to me ; but the sable strategists flitted here 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 273 

and there, hovered in the air, dropped to the ground, 
visiting every bush and grass-tuft but the right one, 
and finally the worms held in their bills disappeared, 
whether into their own gullets or those of their fledge- 
lings, I could not tell. If the latter, the rascals were 
unconscionably wary, for my eyes were bent on them 
every moment — at least, I thought so. Again and 
again they flew off some distance, never more than a 
stone's throw, strutted about for a few minutes among 
the tufts of grass and sod, then came back with loud 
objurgations to the place where I sat. They seemed to 
be aware of my inspection the moment my field-glass 
was turned upon them, for they would at once cease 
their pretended search for insects in the grass and 
fly toward me with a clamorous berating giving me 
a big piece of their mind. At length my patience 
was worn out ; I began to hunt for nests, and found 
the three empty abodes to which allusion has been 
made. 

For the most part the female cried, " Chack ! chack ! " 
but occasionally she tried to screech like her ebon con- 
sort, her voice breaking ludicrously in the unfeminine 
effort. The evening before, I had flushed a youngster 
about which a great hubbub was being made, but on 
the day of my long vigil in the meadow, I could not, bv 
the most careful search, find a single bantling, either in 
or out of a nest. It is odd how effectually the young 

18 



274 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

are able to conceal themselves in the short grass and 
straggling bushes. 

Not a little attention was given to the western 
savanna sparrows, whose songs have already been de- 
scribed. Abundant proof was furnished that the breed- 
ing season for these little birds was at its height, and I 
determined to find a nest, if within the range of possi- 
bility. An entire forenoon was spent in discovering 
three nests. As you approach their domiciles, the 
cocks, which are always on the alert, evidently give the 
alarm to their sitting mates, which thereupon slip sur- 
reptitiously from the nest ; and in that case how are 
you going to ferret out their domestic secrets ? 

A female — I could distinguish her from her consort 
by her conduct — was sitting on the post of a wire 
fence, preening her feathers, which was sufficient evi- 
dence that she had just come from brooding her eggs. 
To watch her until she went back to her nest, then 
make a bee-line for it — that was the plan I resolved to 
pursue. It is an expedient that succeeds with many 
birds, if the observer is very quiet and tactful. For a 
long time I stood in the blazing sun with my eyes bent 
on the little impostor. Back and forth, hither and yon, 
she flew, now descending to the ground and creeping 
slyly about in the grass, manifestly to induce me to ex- 
amine the spot ; then back to the fence again, chirping 
excitedly ; then down at another place, employing every 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 275 

artifice to make me think the nest was where it was 
not ; but I steadfastly refused to budge from my tracks 
as long as she came up in a few moments after descend- 
ing, for ill that case I knew that she was simply resort- 
ing to a ruse to lead me astray. Finally she went 
down at a point which she had previously avoided, and, 
as it was evident she was becoming exceedingly anxious 
to go back upon her eggs, I watched her like a tiger 
intent on his prey. Slyly she crept about in the grass, 
presently her chirping ceased, and she disappeared. 

Several minutes passed, and she did not come up, 
so I felt sure she had gone down for good this time, 
and was. sitting on her nest. Her husband exerted 
himself to his utmost to beguile my attention with his 
choicest arias, but no amount of finesse would now turn 
me from my purpose. I made a bee-line for the spot 
where I had last seen the madame, stopping not, nor 
veering aside for water, mud, bushes, or any other ob- 
stacle. A search of a couple of minutes brought no 
find, for she had employed all the strategy of which she 
was mistress in going to the nest, having moused along 
in the grass for some distance after I had last seen her. 
I made my search in an ever-widening circle, and at 
length espied some dry grass spears in a tuft right at 
my feet ; then the little prospective mother flitted from 
her nest and went trailing on the ground, feigning to 
be fatally wounded. 



276 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Acquainted with such tactics, I did not follow her, 
not even with my eye, but looked down at my feet. 
Ah ! the water sprites had been kind, for there was the 
dainty crib, set on a high tuft of sod raised by the win- 
ter's frosts, a little island castle in the wet marsh, cosey 
and dry. It was my first savanna sparrow's nest, 
whether eastern or western. The miniature cottage 
was placed under a fragment of dried cattle excrement, 
which made a slant roof over it, protecting it from the 
hot rays of the sun. Sunken slightly into the ground, 
the nest's rim was flush with the short grass, while the 
longer stems rose about it in a green, filmy wall or 
stockade. The holdings of the pretty cup were four 
pearls of eggs, the ground color white, the smaller end 
and middle peppered finely with brown, the larger al- 
most solidly washed with pigment of the same tint. 

Two more savannas' nests were found not long after- 
wards, one of them by watching the female until she 
settled, the other by accidentally flushing her as I 
walked across the marshy pasture ; but neither of them 
was placed under a roof as the first one had been, the 
blue dome being their only shelter. These birdlets seem 
to be especially fond of soggy places in pastures, setting 
their nests on the little sod towers that rise above the 
surrounding water. 

All the birds seen in the park have now been 
mentioned. It was an idyllic spot, and I have often 






PLEASANT OUTINGS 277 

regretted that I did not spend a week in rambling 
over it and making excursions to the engirdling ridges 
and peaks. A few suggestive questions arise relative 
to the migratory habits of the feathered tenants of a 
mountain park like this, for most of those that have 
been named are only summer residents. How do 
they reach this immured Eden at the time of the spring 
migration? One may conjecture and speculate, but 
one cannot be absolutely sure of the precise course of 
their annual pilgrimage to their summer Mecca. Of 
course, they come up from the plains, where the spring 
arrives much earlier than it does in the higher altitudes. 
Our nomads may ascend by easy stages along the few 
canons and valleys leading up from the plains to this 
mountain-girt plateau; or else, rising high in air at 
eventide — for most birds perform their migrations at 
night — they may fly over the passes and mountain 
tops, and at dawn descend to the park. 

Neither of these hypotheses is free from objection, 
for, on the one hand, it is not likely that birds, which 
cannot see in the dark, would take the risk of dashing 
their brains out against the cliffs and crags of the canons 
by following them at night ; yet they may depart from 
their usual habit of nocturnal migration, and make the 
journey up the gorges and vales by day. On the other 
hand, the nights are so cold in the elevated regions 
that the little travellers' lives might be jeopardized by 



278 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

nocturnal flight over the passes and peaks. There is 
one thing certain about the whole question, perplexing 
as it may be — the feathered pilgrims reach their sum- 
mer quarters in some way, and seem to be very happy 
while they remain. 

We stopped at a number of places in our run down 
South Platte Canon, adding no new birds to our list, 
but making some interesting observations. At CasseFs 
a house-wren had built a nest on the veranda of the 
hotel where people were sitting or passing most of the 
time, and was feeding her tiny brood. In the copse 
of the hollow below the resort, the mountain song- 
sparrows were trilling sweetly — the only ones we had 
encountered in our wanderings since leaving Arvada on 
the plains. These musicians seem to be rather finical 
in their choice of summer resorts. Chase vi lie is about 
a mile below CassePs, and was made memorable to us 
by the discovery of our second green -tailed towhee's 
nest, a description of which I have decided to reserve 
for the last chapter of this volume. Lincoln's sparrows 
descanted in rich tones at various places in the bushy 
vales, but were always as wild as deer, scuttling into 
the thickets before a fair view of them could be 
obtained. 

The veranda of a boarding-house at Shawnee was the 
site of another house-wren's nest. While I stood quite 
close watching the little mother, she fed her bantlings 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 279 

twice without a quaver of fear, the youngsters chirping 
loudly for more of " that good dinner." At this place 
barn swallows were describing graceful circles and loops 
in the air, and a sheeny violet-green swallow squatted 
on the dusty road and took a sun-bath, which she did by 
fluffing up all her plumes and spreading out her wings 
and tail, so that the rays could reach every feather with 

, , . „ , , ' 11-1, ti Violet-green Swallow 

their grateful warmth and light. It 
was a pretty performance. 

A stop-over at Bailey's 
proved satisfactory for sev- 
eral reasons, among which 
was the finding of the Lou- 
isiana tanagers, which were the first 
we had seen on this trip, although many of them had « Squatted on the 

been observed in the latitude of Colorado Springs, dusty road and 

r ° took a sun-bath * 
Afterwards we found them abundant in the neighbor- 
hood of Boulder. The only pigmy nuthatches of this 
visit were seen in a ravine above Bailey's. In the same 
wooded hollow I took occasion to make some special 
notes on the quaint calls of the long-crested jays, a 
task that I had thus far deferred from time to time. 
There was an entire family of jays in the ravine, the 
elders feeding their strapping youngsters in the cus- 
tomary manner. These birds frequently give voice to a 
strident call that is hard to distinguish from the cries 
of their kinsmen, the mountain jays. When I pursued 




280 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

the couple that were attending to the gastronomical 
wants of their children, one of the adults played a yodel 
on his trombone sounding like this : " Ka-ka-ka, k-wilt, 
k-wilt, k-wilt," the first three short syllables enunciated 
rapidly, and the " k-wilts " in a more measured way, 
with a peculiar guttural intonation, giving the full sound 
to the k and w. The birds became very shy when they 
thought themselves shadowed, not understanding what 
my pursuit might imply, and they gave utterance to 
harsh cries of warning that were different from any that 
had preceded. It was presently followed by a soft and 
friendly chatter, as if the birds were having an inter- 
view that was exclusively inter se. Then one of them 
startled me by breaking out in a loud, high key, cry- 
ing, " Quick ! quick ! quick ! " as fast as he could fling 
the syllables from his tongue. This, being translated 
into our human vernacular, obviously meant, " Hurry 
off! danger! danger ! " A few minutes of silence fol- 
lowed the outburst, while the birds ambled farther 
away, and then the echoes were roused by a most 
raucous call, " Go-ware ! go-ware ! go-ware ! " in a voice 
that would have been enough to strike terror to the 
heart of one who was not used to uncanny sounds in 
solitary places. After that outburst the family flew 
off, and I could hear them talking the matter over 
among themselves far up the mountain side, no doubt 
congratulating one another on their hair-breadth 



PLEASANT OUTINGS 281 

escape. The youngsters looked quite stylish with their 
quaint little blue caps and neatly fitting knickerbockers. 
At Bailey's I found my first and only white-crowned 
sparrow's nest for this trip, although two years before I 
was fortunate enough to discover several nests in the 
valleys creeping from the foot of Pike's Peak. At dusk 
one evening I was walking along the railway below the 
village, listening to the sweetly pensive trills of the 
white-crowns in the bushes bordering the creek, when 
there was a sharp chirp in the willows, and a female 
white-crown darted over to my side of the stream 
and slipped quietly into a thick bush on the bank. I 
stepped down to the spot, and the pretty madame leaped 
away, uncovering a well-woven nest containing four 
white eggs speckled with dark brown. All the while 
her spouse was trilling with might and main on the 
other side of the creek, to make believe that there was 
nothing serious happening, no nest that any one cared 
anything about. His mate could not disguise her ag- 
itation by assuming nonchalance, but flitted about in 
the willows and chirped pitifully. I hurried away to 
relieve her distress. The cottages on the slopes were 
gay with tourists enjoying their summer outing, and 
beautiful Kiowa Lodge, perched on a shoulder of the 
mountain among embowering pines, glowed with incan- 
descent lights, while its blithe-hearted guests pursued 
their chosen kinds of pastime ; but none of them, I ven- 



282 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

ture to assert, were happier than the little white-crown 
in her grassy lodge on the bank of the murmuring 
stream. 

On the way down the canon, as we were going to 
Denver, I was able to add three belted kingfishers to 
my bird-roll of Colorado species, the only ones I saw in 
the Rockies. 

Our jaunt of 1901 included a trip to Boulder and 
a thrilling swing around the far-famed " Switzerland 
Trail 11 to Ward, perched on the mountain sides among 
the clouds hard by the timber-line. Almost every- 
where we met with feathered comrades ; in some places, 
especially about Boulder, many of them ; but no new 
species were seen, and no habits observed that have not 
been sufficiently delineated in other parts of this book. 
If one could only observe all the birds all the time in 
all places, what a happy life the bird-lover would live ! 
It is with feelings of mingled joy and sadness that one 
cons Longfellow's melodious lines : — 

" Think every morning when the sun peeps through 
The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, 

How jubilant the happy birds renew 
Their old, melodious madrigals of love ! 

And when you think of this, remember too 
'Tis always morning somewhere, and above 

The awakened continents, from shore to shore, 

Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. " 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 






A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 1 

ON the plains of Colorado there dwells a feath- 
ered choralist that deserves a place in Amer- 
ican bird literature, and the dav will perhaps 
come when his merits will have due recognition, and 
then he shall have not only a monograph, but also an 
ode all to himself. 

The bird to which I refer is called the lark bunting 
in plain English, or, in scientific terms, Calamospiza 
melanocorys. The male is a trig and handsome fellow, 
giving you the impression of a well-dressed gentleman 
in his Sunday suit of black, " with more or less of a 
slaty cast," as Ridgway puts it, the middle and greater 
wing-coverts bearing a conspicuous white patch which 
is both a diagnostic marking and a real ornament. In 
flight this patch imparts to the wing a filmy, almost 

1 The author is under special obligation to Mr. John P. Haines, 
editor of "Our Animal Friends, •' and president of the American 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, for publishing 
the contents of this chapter in his magazine in time to be included 
in this volume. Also for copyright privileges in connection with 
this and other chapters. 

285 



286 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

semi-transparent, aspect. The bunting is about the size 
of the eastern bobolink, and bears some resemblance to 
that bird ; but bobolink he is not, although sometimes 
mistaken for one, and even called by that name in Col- 
orado. The fact is, those wise men, the systematists, 
have decided that the bobolink belongs to the family 
Icteridoe, which includes, among others, the blackbirds 
and orioles, while the lark bunting occupies a genus 
all by himself in the family Fringillidce — that is, the 
family of finches, sparrows, grosbeaks, and towhees. 
Therefore, the two birds can scarcely be called second 
cousins. The bunting has no white or buff on his upper 
parts. 

Sitting on a sunny slope one June evening, I surren- 
dered myself to the spell of the bunting, and endeavored 
to make an analysis of his minstrelsy. First, it must 
be said that he is as fond as the bobolink of rehearsing 
his arias on the wing, and that is, perhaps^ the chief 
reason for his having been mistaken for that bird by 
careless observers. Probably the major part of his solos 
are recited in flight, although he can sit quietly on a 
weed-stalk or a fence-post and sing as sweetly, if not as 
ecstatically, as if he were curveting in the air. During 
this aerial performance he hovers gracefully, bending 
his wings downward, after the bobolink's manner, as if 
he were caressing the earth beneath him. However, a 
striking difference between his intermittent song-flights 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 287 

and those of the bobolink is to be noted. The latter 
usually rises in the air, soars around in a curve, and 
returns to the perch from which he started, or to one 
near by, describing something of an ellipse. The lark 
bunting generally rises obliquely to a certain point, 
then descends at about the same angle to another perch 
opposite the starting-point, describing what might be 
called the upper sides of an isosceles triangle, the base 
being a line near the ground, connecting the perch 
from which he rose and the one on which he alighted. 
I do not mean to say that our bunting never circles, 
but simply that such is not his ordinary habit, while 
sweeping in a circle or ellipse is the favorite pastime 
of the eastern bobolink. The ascent of neither bird is 
very high. They are far from deserving the name of 
skylarks. 

We must give a detailed account of the bunting's 
song. Whatever others may think of him, I have come 
under the spell of his lyrical genius. True, his voice 
has not the loud, metallic ring, nor his chanson the 
medley-like, happy-go-lucky execution, that marks the 
musical performances of the bobolink ; but his song is 
more mellow, rhythmic, themelike ; for he has a distinct 
tune to sing, and sing it he will. In fine, his song is of 
a different order from that of the bobolink, and, there- 
fore, the comparison need be carried no further. 

As one of these minstrels sat on a flowering weed and 



288 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

gave himself up to a lyrical transport, I made careful 
notes, and now give the substance of my elaborate 
entries. The song, which is intermittent, opens with 
three prolonged notes running high in the scale, and is 
succeeded by a quaint, rattling trill of an indescribable 
character, not without musical effect, which is followed 
by three double-toned long notes quite different from 
the opening phrases ; then the whole performance is 
closed by an exceedingly high and fine run like an 
insect's hum — so fine, indeed, that the auditor must 
be near at hand to notice it at all. Sometimes the 
latter half of the score, including the second triad of 
long notes, is repeated before the soloist stops to take 
breath. It will be seen that the regular song consists 
of four distinct phrases, two triads and two trills. 
About one-third of the songs are opened in a little 
lower key than the rest, the remainder being corre- 
spondingly mellowed. The opening syllables, and, in- 
deed, some other parts of the melody as well, are very 
like certain strains of the song-sparrow, both in execu- 
tion and in quality of tone ; and thus even the expe- 
rienced ornithologist may sometimes be led astray. 
When the bunting sails into the air, he rehearses the 
song just described, only he is very likely to prolong 
it by repeating the various parts, though I think he 
seldom, if ever, throws them together in a hodge-podge. 
He seems to follow a system in his recitals, varied as 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 289 

many of them are. As to his voice, it is of superb 
timbre. 

Another characteristic noted was that the buntings 
do not throw back their heads while singing, after the 
manner of the sparrows, but stretch their necks forward, 
and at no time do they open their mouths widely. 
As a rule, or at least very often, when flying, they 
do not begin their songs until they have almost 
reached the apex of their triangle; then the song 
begins, and it continues over the angle and down the 
incline until another perch is settled upon. What 
Lowell says of " bobolinkum " is just as true of bunting 
— " He runs down, a brook o' laughter, thru the air. 1 ' 
As the sun went down behind the snow-clad mountains, 
a half dozen or more of the buntings rolled up the full 
tide of song, and I left them to their vespers and 
trudged back to the village, satisfied with the ac- 
quirements of this red-letter day in my ornithologi- 
cal journey. 

However, one afternoon's study of such charming 
birds was not enough to satisfy my curiosity, for no 
females had been seen and no nests discovered. About 
ten days later, more attention was given them. In a 
meadow not far from the hamlet of Arvada, between 
Denver and the mountains, I found a colony of 
buntings one morning, swinging in the air and furnishing 
their full quota of the matutinal concert, in which many 

19 



290 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

other birds had a leading part, among them being 
western meadow-larks, western robins, Bullock's ori- 
oles, American and Arkansas goldfinches, mountain 
song-sparrows, lazuli finches, spurred towhees, black - 
headed grosbeaks, summer warblers, western Maryland 
yellow-throats, and Townsend's solitaires. It has sel- 
dom been my fortune to listen to a finer pot-pourri 
of avian music. 

At first only male buntings were seen. Surely, I 
thought, there must be females in the neighborhood, 
for when male birds are singing so lustily about a place, 
their spouses are usually sitting quietly on nests some- 
where in bush or tree or grass. I hunted long for a 
nest, trudging about over the meadow, examining 
many a grass-tuft and weed-clump, hoping to flush a 
female and discover her secret ; but my quest was vain. 
It is strange how difficult it is to find nests in Colorado, 
either on the plains or in the mountains. The birds 
seem to be adepts in the fine arts of concealment and 
secret-keeping. Presently several females were seen 
flying off over the fields and returning, obviously to 
feed their young. There was now some colorable pros- 
pect of finding a nest. A mother bird appeared with a 
worm in her bill, and you may rely upon it I did not 
permit her to slip from my sight until I saw her drop 
to the ground, hop about stealthily for a few moments, 
then disappear, and presently fly up minus the worm. 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 291 

Scarcely daring to breathe, I followed a direct course 
to the weed-clump from which she had risen. And 
there was a nest, sure enough — my first lark bunting's 
— set in a shallow pit of the ground, prettily concealed 
and partly roofed oyer by the flat and spreading weed- 
stalk. Four half-fledged youngsters lay panting in the 
little cradle, the day being very warm. I lifted one of 
them from the nest, and held it in my hand for a 
minute or two, and e\*en touched it with my lips, 
my first view of lark-bunting babies being: something of 
an event — I had almost said an epoch — in my experi- 
ence. Replacing the youngster in its crib, I stepped back 
a short distance and watched the mother bird returning 
with another mouthful of " goodies," and feeding her 
bantlings four. She was not very shy, and simply 
uttered a fine chirp when I went too close to her nest- 
lings, while her gallant consort did not even chirp, but 
tried to divert my attention by repeatedly curveting in 
the air and singing his choicest measures. This was 
the only bunting's nest I found, although I made 
long and diligent search for others, as you may well 
belieye when I state that a half day was spent in gath- 
ering the facts recorded in the last two paragraphs. 

In the afternoon I watched a female in another field 
for a long time, but she was too wary to betray her 
secret. In this case the male, instead' of beguiling 
me with song, flitted about and mingled his fine chirps 



292 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

with those of his anxious mate. On my way across the 
plains, some two weeks later, I discovered that the lark 
buntings do not dwell only in well-watered meadows, 
but also in the most arid localities. Still, I am 
inclined to think they do not build their nests far 
from refreshing streams. When the breeding season is 
over, they range far and wide over the plains in search 
of insects that are to their taste. From the car 
window many of them were observed all along the 
way to a distance of over sixty miles east of Denver. 
At that time the males, females, and young were mov- 
ing from place to place, mostly in scattering flocks, the 
breeding season being past. A problem that puzzled 
me a little was where they obtain water for drinking 
and bathing purposes, but no doubt such blithe and 
active birds are able to "look out for number one." 

The second member of our lyrical quartette is the 
elegant green-tailed towhee, known scientifically as 
Pipilo chlorurus. The pretty green -tails are quite wary 
about divulging their domestic secrets, and for a time 
I was almost in despair of finding even one of their 
nests. In vain I explored with exhausting toil many a 
steep mountain side, examining every bush and beating 
every copse within a radius of many rods. 

My purpose was to flush the female from her nest, 
a plan that succeeds with many birds ; but in this 
instance I was disappointed. It is possible that, when 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 293 

an intruder appears in their nesting haunts, the males, 
which are ever on the lookout, call their spouses from 
the nests, and then " snap their fingers,*" so to speak, 
at the puzzled searcher. 

However, by watching the mother birds carrying 
worms in their bills I succeeded in finding two nests. 
The first was at Breckenridge, and, curiously enough, 
in a vacant lot at the border of the town, not on a 
steep slope, but on a level spot near the bank of Blue 
River. The mother bird had slyly crept to her nest 
while I watched, and remained firmly seated until I bent 
directly over her, when she fluttered away, trailing a 
few feet to draw my attention to herself. It was a cosey 
nest site — in a low, thick bush, beneath a rusty but 
well-preserved piece of sheet-iron which made a slant 
roof over the cradle. It contained three callow bant- 
lings, which innocently opened their carmine-lined 
mouths when I stirred the leaves above them. It 
seemed to be an odd location for the nest of a bird 
that had always appeared so wild and shy. The alti- 
tude of the place is nine thousand five hundred and 
twenty feet. 

My second green-taiFs nest was in South Platte 
Canon, near a station called Chaseville, its elevation 
being about eight thousand five hundred feet. I was 
walking along the dusty wagon road winding about the 
base of the mountain, when a little bird with a worm 



294 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

in her bill flitted up the steep bank a short distance 
and disappeared among the bushes. The tidbit in 
her bill gave me a clew to the situation ; so I scrambled 
up the steep place, and presently espied a nest in a 
bush, about a foot and a half from the ground. As 
had been anticipated, it turned out to be a green-tailed 
towhee's domicile, as was proved by the presence and 
uneasy chirping of a pair of those birds. While the 
nest at Brecken ridge was set on the ground, this one 
was placed on the twigs of thick bushes, showing that 
these birds, like their eastern relatives, are fond of 
diversity in selecting nesting places. 

This nest contained four bantlings, already well 
fledged. My notes say that their mouths were yellow- 
lined, and that the fleshy growths at the corners of 
their bills were yellow. Does the lining of the juvenile 
green- tail's mouth change from red to yellow as he 
advances in age ? My notes certainly declare that the 
nestlings at Breckenridge had carmine-lined mouths. 
For the present I cannot settle the question either 
affirmatively or negatively. 

Here I perpetrated a trick which I have ever since 
regretted. The temptation to hold a baby green-tail 
in lny hand and examine it closely was so strong that, 
as carefully as I could, I drew one from its grassy crib 
and held it in my palm, noting the green tinting 
already beginning to show on its wings and back. Its 






A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 295 

tail was still too stubby to display the ornamentation 
that gives the species its popular name. So much was 
learned, but at the expense of the little family's peace 
of mind. As I held the bantling in my hand, the 
frightened mamma uttered a series of pitiful calls that 
were new to my ears, consisting of two notes in a low, 
complaining tone ; it was more of an entreaty than a 
protest. Afterwards I heard the green-tails also give 
voice to a fine chirp almost like that of a chipping 
sparrow. 

The mother's call seemed to strike terror to the 
hearts of her infant brood, for, as I attempted to put 
the baby back into its crib, all four youngsters set up 
a loud to-do, and sprang, panic stricken, over the rim, 
tumbling, fluttering, and falling through the network 
of twigs to the ground, a couple of them rolling a few 
feet down the dusty bank. Again and again I caught 
them and put them back into the nest, but they would 
not remain there, so I was compelled to leave them 
scrambling about among the bushes and rocks. I felt 
like a buccaneer, a veritable Captain Kidd. My sincere 
hope is that none of the birdkins came to grief on ac- 
count of their premature flight from the nest. The 
next morning old and young were chirping about the 
place as I passed, and I hurried away, feeling sad 
that science and sentiment must sometimes come into 
conflict. 



296 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

One day in the latter part of June, as I was climbing 
the steep side of a mesa in the neighborhood of Golden, 
my ear was greeted by a new style of bird music, which 
came lilting sweetly down to me from the height. It 
had a kind of wild, challenging ring about it, as if the 
singer were daring me to venture upon his demesne at 
my peril. A hard climb brought me at length within 
range of the little performer, who was blowing his 
Huon's horn from the pointed top of a large stone on 
the mesa's side. My field-glass was soon fixed upon 
him, revealing a little bird with a long beak, decurved 
at the end, a grayish-brown coat quite thickly barred 
and mottled on the wings and tail, and a vest of warm 
white finely sprinkled with a dusky gray. A queer, 
shy, timid little thing he was. Afterwards I met him 
often, but never succeeded in gaining his confidence or 
winning a single concession from him. He was the rock 
wren (Salpinctes obsoletus) — a species that is unknown 
east of the Great Plains, one well deserving a place in 
literature. 

I was especially impressed with his peculiar style of 
minstrelsy, so different from anything I had ever heard 
in the bird realm. While the song was characterized 
by much variety, it usually opened with two or three 
loud, clear syllables, somewhat prolonged, sounding, as 
has been said, like a challenge, followed by a peculiar 
bubbling trill that seemed fairly to roll from the piper s 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 297 

tongue. Early one morning a few days later I heard a 
brilliant vocalist descanting from the top of a pump in 
a wide field among the foothills. How wildly his tones 
rang out on the crisp morning air ! I seemed to be 
suddenly transported to another part of the world, his 
style of music was so new, so foreign to my ear. My 
pencilled notes say of this particular minstrel : " Very 
musical — great variety of notes — clear, loud, ringing 
— several runs slightly like Carolina's — others suggest 
Bewick's — but most of them sui generis. " 

Let us return to the first rock wren I saw. He was 
exceedingly shy, scurrying off to a more distant perch — 
another stone — as I approached. Sometimes he would 
run down among the bushes and rocks like a mouse, 
then glide to the top of another stone, and fling his pert 
little aria at the intruder. It was interesting to note 
that he most frequently selected for a singing perch the 
top of a high, pointed rock where he could command a 
view of his surroundings and pipe a note of warning to 
his mate at the approach of a supposed enemy. Almost 
every conspicuous rock on the acclivity bore evidence of 
having been used as a lookout bv the little sentinel. 

This wren is well named, for his home is among the 
rocks, in the crannies and niches of which his mate 
hides her nest so effectually that you must look long for 
it, and even after the most painstaking search you may 
not be able to find it. The little husband helps to lead 



298 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

you astray. He will leap upon a rock and send forth 
his bell-like peal, as if he were saying, "Right here, 
right here, here is our nest ! " but when you go to the 
spot, he flits oft' to another rock and sounds the same 
challenge. And so you can form no idea of the nest 
site. My nearest approach to finding a nest was among 
the rocks and cliffs on the summit of a mountain a few 
miles from Golden, where an adult bird was seen to feed 
a youngster that had already flown from the nursery. 
It was interesting to know that the rock wrens breed at 
so high an altitude. However, they are not an alpine 
species, none having been seen by the writer over eight 
thousand feet above sea-level, although they have been 
known to ascend to an altitude of twelve thousand feet. 
The fourth member of our feathered quartette was 
the oddest of all. On the thirtieth of June my com- 
panion and I were riding slowly down the mountain 
side a few miles below Gray's Peak, which we had scaled 
two days before. My ear was struck by a flicker's call 
above us, so I dismounted from my burro, and began to 
clamber up the hillside. Presently I heard a song that 
seemed one moment to be near at hand, the next far 
away, now to the right, now to the left, and anon 
directly above me. To my ear it was a new kind of 
bird minstrelsy. I climbed higher and higher, and yet 
the song seemed to be no nearer. It had a grosbeak - 
like quality, I fancied, and I hoped to find either the 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 299 

pine or the evening grosbeak, for both of which I had 
been making anxious search. The shifting of the song 
from point to point struck me as odd, and it was very 
mystifying. 

Higher and higher I climbed, the mountain side being 
so steep that my breath came in gasps, and I was often 
compelled to throw myself on the ground to recover 
strength. At length a bird darted out from the pines 
several hundred feet above me, rose high into the air, 
circled and swung this way and that for a long time, 
breaking at intervals into a song which sifted down to 
me faintly through the blue distance. How long it 
remained on the wing I do not know, but it was too 
long for my eyes to endure the strain of watching it. 
Through my glass a large part of the wings showed 
white or yellowish-white, and seemed to be almost trans- 
lucent in the blaze of the sunlight. What could this 
wonderful haunter of the sky be ? It was scarcely pos- 
sible that so roly-polv a bird as a grosbeak could perform 
so marvellous an exploit on the wing. 

I never worked harder to earn my salary than I did 
to climb that steep and rugged mountain side ; but at 
last I reached and penetrated the zone of pines, and 
finally, in an area covered with dead timber, standing 
and fallen, two feathered strangers sprang in sight, now 
flitting among the lower branches and now sweeping to 
the ground. Thev were not grosbeaks, that was sure ; 



300 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

their bills were quite slender, their bodies lithe and 
graceful, and their tails of well-proportioned length. 
Save in color, they presented a decidedly thrush-like 
appearance, and their manners were also thrush-like. 

Indeed, the colors and markings puzzled me not a 
little. The upper parts were brownish-gray of various 
shades, the wings and tail for the most part dusky, the 
wing-coverts, tertials, and some of the quills bordered 
and tipped with white, also the tail. The white of both 
wings and tail became quite conspicuous when they were 
spread. This was the feathered conundrum that flitted 
about before me. The birds were about the size of the 
hermit thrushes, but lither and suppler. They ambled 
about gracefully, and did not seem to be very shy, and 
presently one of them broke into a song — the song that 
I had previously heard, only it was loud and ringing and 
well articulated, now that I was near the singer. Again 
and again they lifted their rich voices in song. When 
they wandered a little distance from each other, they 
called in affectionate tones, giving their " All 's well." 

Then one of them, no doubt the male, darted from a 
pine branch obliquely into the air, and mounted up and 
up and up, in a series of graceful leaps, until he was 
a mere speck against the blue dome, gyrating to and 
fro in zigzag lines, or wheeling in graceful circles, his 
song dribbling faintly down to me at frequent intervals. 
A thing of buoyancy and grace, more angel than bird, 






A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 301 

that wonderful winged creature floated about in the 
cerulean sky ; how long I do not know, whether five 
minutes, or ten, or twenty, but so long that at last I 
flung myself upon my back and watched him until my 
eyes ached. He kept his wings in constant motion, the 
white portions making them appear filmy as the sun 
shone upon them. Suddenly he bent his head, partly 
folded his wings, and swept down almost vertically like 
an arrow, alighting safe somewhere among the pines. 
I have seen other birds performing aerial evolutions 
accompanied with song, but have never known one to 
continue so long on the wing. 

What was this wonderful bird ? It was Townsend's 
solitaire (Myadestes tozcnsendu) — a bird which is pecu- 
liar to the West, especially to the Rocky Mountains, 
and which belongs to the same family as the thrushes 
and bluebirds. No literature in my possession contains 
any reference to this bird's astonishing aerial flight and 
song, and I cannot help wondering whether other bird- 
students have witnessed the interesting exploit. 

Subsequently I found a pair of solitaires on the 
plains near Arvada. The male was a powerful singer. 
Many of his outbursts were worthy of the mocking-bird, 
to some of whose runs they bore a close resemblance. 
He sang almost incessantly during the half day I spent 
in the neighborhood, my presence seeming to inspire 
him to the most prodigious lyrical efforts of which he 



302 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

was master. Sometimes he would sit on the top of a 
bush or a fence-post, but his favorite perches were sev- 
eral ridges of sand and gravel. His flight was the 
picture of grace, and he had a habit of lifting his 
wings, now one, now the other, and often both, after 
the manner of the mocking-bird on a chimney-top. He 
and his mate did not utter a chirp, but made a great 
to-do by singing, and finally I discovered that all the 
fuss was not about a nest, but about a hulking young- 
ster that had outgrown his kilts and looked very like a 
brown thrasher. Neither of this second pair of soli- 
taires performed any evolutions in the upper air ; nor 
did another pair that I found far up a snow-clad moun- 
tain near Breckenridge, on the other side of the Conti- 
nental Divide. 

The scientific status of this unique bird is interesting. 
He is a species of the genus Myadestes, which belongs 
to the family Turdidcc, including the thrushes, stone- 
chats, and bluebirds, as well as the solitaires. He is 
therefore not a thrush, but is closely related to the 
genus Ttirdus, occupying the same relative position in 
the avi-faunal system. According to Doctor Coues the 
genus includes about twenty species, only one of which 
— the one just described — is native to the United 
States, the rest being found in the West Indies and 
Central and South America. Formerly the solitaires 
comprised a subfamily among the chatterers, but a later 




Plate VIII 

Brown-capped Leucosticte — Leucosticte australis 

(Lower figure, male ; upper, female) 



A NOTABLE QUARTETTE 303 

and more scientific classification places then in a genus 
under the head of Turdidcc. 

The range of Townsend's solitaire is from the plains 
of Colorado to the Pacific coast and north to British 
Columbia. According to Robert Ridgway, he has even 
been met with " casually " in Illinois. In Colorado 
many of the solitaires are permanent residents in the 
mountains, remaining there throughout the winter. 
Some of them, however, visit the plains during the 
fall, winter, and spring. In the winter they may be 
found from the lower valleys to an elevation of ten 
thousand feet, while they are known to breed as high as 
twelve thousand feet. The nests are placed on the 
ground among rocks, fallen branches and logs, and are 
loosely constructed of sticks and grass. From three to 
six eggs compose a set, the ground color being white, 
speckled with reddish brown. Doctor Coues says the 
birds feed on insects and berries, and are " capable of 
musical expression in an exalted degree." With this 
verdict the writer is in full accord. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 



GHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 

THE following list includes all the species and vari- 
eties, so far as known to naturalists, occurring in 
the State of Colorado. Of course, these birds as 
families are not restricted to that State, and therefore the 
catalogue comprehends many of the species to be found 
in adjacent and even more remote parts of the country. 
Aside from the author's own observations, he is indebted 
for a large part of the matter comprised in this list to 
Professor Wells W. Cooke's pamphlet, entitled, "The Birds 
of Colorado," with the several appendixes, and to the 
invaluable manuals of Mr. Ridgway and Dr. Coues. 

According to the latest information accessible to the 
writer, 389 species and varieties occur in Colorado, of 
which 243 are known to breed. This is a superb record, 
and is excelled by only two other States in the Union, 
namely, Texas and California. Colorado's splendid list is 
to be explained on the ground of its wonderful variety of 
climate, altitude, soil, and topographical features, such as 
its plains, foothills, lower mountains, and towering peaks 
and ranges, bringing within its boundaries many eastern, 
boreal, middle western, and far western forms. 

The author's preference would have been to begin the 
roll with the most interesting birds, those to which he 
gave the largest share of his attention, namely, the oscines, 

307 



308 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

but he has decided to follow the order and nomenclature 
of the Check-List of North American birds as arranged by 
the American Ornithologists' Union. In deference to the 
general reader, however, he has placed the English name 
of each bird first, then the scientific designation. The 
numbers correspond to the American Check-List. By 
noting those omitted, the reader will readily discover what 
species have not been found in Colorado. 

1. Western grebe. jEchmophorus occidentalis. Rare 
migrant ; western species, chiefly interior regions of North 
America. 

2. Holboell's grebe. Colymbus holboellii. Rare mi- 
grant ; breeds far north ; range, all of North America. 

3. Horned grebe. Colymbus auritus. Rare migrant ; 
range, almost the same as the last. 

4. American eared grebe. Colymbus nigricollis cali- 
fornicus. Summer resident ; rare in eastern, common in 
western Colorado ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet ; par- 
tial to alkali lakes ; western species. 

6. Pied-billed grebe. Podilymbus podic-eps. Summer 
resident, rare ; common in migration ; breeds in northern 
part of State ; sometimes winters in southern part. 

7. Loon. Gavia imber. Migrant; occasionally winter 
resident ; not known to breed in State. 

8. Yellow-billed loon. Gavia adamsii. Migrant ; rare 
or accidental. 

9. Black-throated loon. Gavia arctica. Rare fall 
and winter visitant. 

37. Parasitic jaeger. Stercorarius parasiticus. Fall 
and winter resident ; rare. 






CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 309 

40. Kittiwake. Rissa tridactyla. Rare or accidental 
in winter. 

49. Western gull. Larus occidentals. Pacific Coast 
bird; accidental in Colorado; only one record, 

51a. American herring gull. Larus argentatus smith- 
sonianus. Rare migrant; range, the whole of North 
America. 

53. California gull. Larus californicus. Western 
species ; breeds abundantly in Utah ; only three records 
for Colorado. 

54. Ring-billed gull. Larus delawarensis. Not un- 
common summer resident ; common in migration ; breeds 
as high as 7,500 feet ; range, whole of North America. 

58. Laughing gull. Larus atricilla. Bird of South 
Atlantic and Gulf States ; once accidental in Colorado. 

59- Franklin's gull. Larus franklinii. Rare migrant ; 
range, interior of North America. 

60. Bonaparte's gull. Larus Philadelphia. Rare mi- 
grant ; not uncommon in a few localities ; range, whole of 
North America. 

62. Sabine's gull. Xema sabinii. Rare winter visi- 
tant; breeds in the arctic regions. 

69- Forster's tern. Sterna forsteri. Rare summer 
resident; common migrant; habitat, temperate North 
America. 

71. Arctic tern. Sterna paradis.ea. Very rare migrant ; 
but two records ; breeding habitat, circumpolar regions. 

77. Black tern. Hydrochelidon nigra surinamensis. 
Common summer resident; both sides of range; habitat, 
temperate North America ; in winter south as far as Brazil 
and Chili. 



310 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

120. Double-crested cormorant. Phalacrocorax dilo- 
phus. Perhaps breeds in Colorado, as it breeds abundantly 
in Utah ; all present records from eastern foothills. 

125. American white pelican. Pelecanus erythro- 
rhynchos. Once a common migrant ; a few remained to 
breed ; now rare ; still noted on both sides of the range. 

129- American merganser. Merganser americanus. 
Resident ; common migrant and winter sojourner ; a few 
breed in mountains and parks ; generally distributed in 
North America. 

130. Red-breasted merganser. Merganser serrator. 
Rare winter sojourner ; common migrant ; breeds far 
north. 

131. Hooded merganser. Lophodytes cucullatus. 
Rare resident both summer and winter ; breeds in east- 
ern part and in the mountains ; general range, North 
America. 

132. Mallard. Anas boschas. Very common in mi- 
gration ; common in winter ; breeds below 9,000 feet, on 
plains as well as in mountains ; general range, whole 
northern hemisphere. 

134a. Mottled duck. Anas fulvigula maculosa. Rare 
migrant ; an eastern species, sometimes wandering west to 
plains. 

135. Gadwall. Chaulelasmus streperus. Summer resi- 
dent ; common in migration ; breeds on plains ; also in 
sloughs and small lakes at an elevation of 11,000 feet in 
southern part of State ; breeds abundantly at San Luis 
Lakes. 

137. Baldpate. Mareca Americana. Summer resi- 
dent ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 311 

139- Green-winged teal. Nettion carolinensis. Com- 
mon summer resident ; abundant in migration ; a few breed 
on the plains ; more in mountains and upper parks. 

140. Blue-winged teal. Querquedula discors. Same 
records as preceding. 

141. Cinnamon teal. Querquedula cyanoptera. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds both east and west of the 
range ; a western species ; in winter south to Chili, Argen- 
tina, and Falkland Islands ; sometimes strays east as far as 
Illinois and Louisiana. 

142. Shoveller. Spatula clypeata. Summer resident ; 
abundant in migration ; breeds in suitable localities, but 
prefers mountain parks 8,000 feet in altitude ; breeds 
throughout its range, which is the whole of North 
America. 

143. Pintail. Dafila acuta. Rare summer and win- 
ter resident ; common migrant ; mostly breeds in the 
North. 

144. Wood duck. Aix sponsa. Rare summer resident. 

146. Redhead. Aythya Americana. Common mi- 
grant ; breeds far north ; migrates early in spring. 

147. Canvas-back. Aythya vallisneria. Migrant ; not 
common ; breeds far north. 

148. Scaup duck. Aythya marila. Rare migrant; 
both sides of the range ; breeds far north. 

149. Lesser scaup duck. Aythya affinis. Migrant; 
not common ; a little more common than preceding. 

150. Ring-necked duck. Aythya collaris. Rare mi- 
grant, though common in Kansas ; breeds in far North. 

151. American golden-eye. Clangula clangula Ameri- 
cana. Rare migrant ; breeds far north. 



312 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

152. Barrow's golden-eye. Clangula islandica. Sum- 
mer and winter resident ; a northern species, but breeds 
in mountains of Colorado, sometimes as high as 10,000 
feet ; rare on plains. 

153. Buffle-head. Charitonetta albeola. Common 
migrant throughout State ; breeds in the North. 

154. Old squaw. Harelda hyemalis. Rare winter 
visitor ; a northern species. 

155. Harlequin duck. Histrionicus histrionicus. Resi- 
dent ; not common ; a northern species, but a few breed 
in mountains at an altitude of 7,000 to 1 0,000 feet. 

l60. American eider. Somateria dresseri. Very rare ; 
only two records — one somewhat uncertain. 

163. American scoter. Oidemia Americana. Rare 
winter visitor ; northern bird, in winter principally along 
the sea-coast, but a few visit the larger inland lakes. 

165. White-winged scoter. Oidemia deglandi. Same 
habits as preceding ; perhaps rarer. 

166. Surf scoter. Oidemia pebspicillata. Same as 
preceding. 

167. Ruddy duck. Erismatura jamaicensis. Common 
summer resident ; both sides of the range ; breeds from 
plains to 10,000 feet; a beautiful bird; author's observa- 
tions given in Chapter VII. 

169. Lesser snow goose. Chen hyperborea. Migrant 
and winter resident ; not common ; breeds far north. 

l69a. Greater snow goose. Chen hyperborea nivalis 
Rare migrant ; only two records ; the eastern form, which 
does not come regularly as far west as Colorado. 

17 la. American white-fronted goose. Anser albi- 
frons gambeli. Rare migrant ; breeds far northward. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 313 

172. Canada goose. Branta canadensis. Summer and 
winter resident ; rare, except locally ; common in migra- 
tion ; breeds about secluded lakes at 10,000 feet. 

172a. Hutchins's goose. Branta canadensis hutch- 
insii. Common migrant ; breeds in the North ; a few may 
winter in the State. 

172c. Cackling goose. Branta canadensis minima. 
One record ; Pacific coast bird ; breeds in Alaska. 

173. Brant. Branta bernicla. Rare or accidental 
migrant ; an eastern species seldom coming west ; breeds 
only within the Arctic Circle. 

180. Whistling swan. Olor columbianus. Migrant; 
not common ; formerly fairly plentiful ; breeds far 
northward. 

181. Trumpeter swan. Olor buccinator. Rare mi- 
grant ; not so common as preceding ; breeds from Iowa and 
Dakota northward. 

183. Roseate spoonbill. Ajaja ajaja. Accidental ; 
two instances ; habitat, tropical and subtropical America. 

184. "White ibis. Guara alba. Rare migrant; one 
taken on plains ; habitat, tropical and subtropical Amer- 
ica, coming north as far as Great Salt Lake and South 
Dakota. 

[185.] Scarlet ibis. Guara rubra. Accidental ; one 
specimen taken; a wonderful record for this tropical 
species. 

186. Glossy ibis. Plegadis autumnalis. Accidental; 
two fine specimens taken in the State ; this is far out of 
its ordinary tropical range. 

187. White-faced glossy ibis. Plegadis guarauna. 
Summer visitor ; rare ; fairly common in New Mexico and 



314 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Arizona ; sometimes wanders into Colorado ; Aiken found 
it breeding at San Luis Lakes. 

188. "Wood ibis. Tantalus loculator. Rare sum- 
mer visitor; southern range. 

190. American bittern. Botaurus lentiginosis. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds throughout the State, from 
plains to about 7,000 feet. 

191. Least bittern. Ardetta exilis. Rare summer 
visitor ; a few records east of mountains ; one specimen 
seen west of the divide. 

194. Great blue heron. Ardea herodias. Summer 
resident ; common in migration ; seldom goes far up 
in the mountains, though Mr. Aiken found one at an 
altitude of 9,000 feet. 

196. American egret. Ardea egretta. Rare or ac- 
cidental ; one seen ; general range, the whole of the 
United States ; in winter south to Chili and Patagonia. 

197. Snowy heron. Ardea candidissima. Summer 
visitor ; not known to breed ; the highest altitude is the 
one taken near Leadville, 10,000 feet. 

198. Reddish egret. Ardea rufescens. Rare or 
accidental ; only two specimens secured ; southern 
range. 

202. Black-crowned night heron. Nycticorax nycti- 
corax NiEvius. Summer resident ; not common ; local ; 
more plentiful in migration. 

203. Yellow-crowned night heron. Nycticorax vio- 
laceus. Rare summer visitor ; southern species ; not known 
to breed in State. 

204. Whooping crane. Grus Americana. Rare mi- 
grant ; more common east of Colorado. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 315 

205. Little brown crane. Grus canadensis. Migrant ; 
few taken : northern breeder. 

206. Sandhill crane. Grus mexicana. Summer resi- 
dent ; not uncommon locally ; in migration common ; 
breeds as high as 8,000 feet ; has been seen in autumn 
passing over the highest peaks. 

212. Virginia rail. Rallus virginianus. Summer resi- 
dent ; not uncommon ; breeds on plains and in mountains 
to at least 7,500 feet. 

214. Sora. Porzana Carolina. Common summer resi- 
dent ; breeds from plains to 9,000 feet. 

21 6. Black rail. Porzana jamaicensis. Rare migrant; 
one specimen secured. 

219- Florida gallinule. Gallinula galeata. Summer 
visitor, not known to breed. 

221. American coot. Fulica Americana. Common 
summer resident ; breeds on plains and in mountain parks. 

222. Red phalarope. Crymophilus fulicarius. Mi- 
grant ; rare ; once taken at Loveland by Edw. A. Preble, 
July 25, 1895. Breeds far north. 

223. Northern phalarope. Phalaropus lobatus. Mi- 
grant ; not uncommon ; breeds far northward. 

224. Wilson's phalarope. Steganopus tricolor. Com- 
mon summer resident ; more common in migration ; breeds 
below 6,000 feet. 

225. American avocet. Recurvirostra Americana. 
Common summer resident ; occurs frequently on the 
plains ; less frequent in mountains. 

226. Black-necked stilt. Himantopus mexicanus. Sum- 
mer resident ; most common in the mountains, going as high 
as 8,000 feet ; more common west of range than east. 



316 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

228. American woodcock. Philohela minor. Rare 
summer resident ; Colorado the extreme western limit of 
its range, going only to foothills. 

230. Wilson's snipe. Gallinago delicata. Rare sum- 
mer resident ; common migrant ; winter resident, rare ; 
found as high as 10,000 feet. 

232. Long-billed dowitcher. Macrorhamphus scolo- 
paceus. Somewhat common migrant ; all records restricted 
to plains ; breeds far northward. 

233. Stilt sandpiper. Micropalama himantopus. Rare 
migrant ; breeds north of United States. 

239- Pectoral sandpiper. Tringa maculata. Com- 
mon migrant ; occurs from the plains to the great height 
of 13,000 feet. 

240. White-rumped sandpiper. Tringa fuscicollis. 
Not uncommon migrant ; a bird of the plains, its western 
limit being the base of the Rockies ; breeds in the far 
North. 

241. Bairds sandpiper. Tringa bairdii. Abundant 
migrant ; breeds far north ; returns in August and ranges 
over mountains sometimes at height of 13,000 to 14,000 
feet, feeding on grasshoppers. 

242. Least sandpiper. Tringa minutilla. Common 
migrant ; found from plains to 7,000 feet. 

243a. Red-backed sandpiper. Tringa alpina pacifica. 
Rare migrant ; only three records ; range, throughout 
North America. 

246. Semipalmated sandpiper. Ereunetes pusillus. 
Common migrant; from the plains to 8,000 feet. 

247. Western sandpiper. Ereunetes occidentalis. 
Rare migrant ; breeds in the remote North ; western 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 317 

species, but in migration occurs regularly along the Atlan- 
tic coast. 

248. Sanderling. Calidris arenaria. Rare migrant, 
on plains ; range nearly cosmopolitan ; breeds only in 
northern part of northern hemisphere. 

249. Marbled godwit. Limosa fedoa. Migrant ; not 
common ; a bird of the plains, but seldom seen ; occasion- 
ally found in the mountains. 

254. Greater yellow-legs. Totanus melanoleucus. 
Common migrant ; in favorable localities below 8,000 
feet. 

255. Yellow-legs. Totanus flavipes. Common mi- 
grant ; distribution same as preceding. 

256. Solitary sandpiper. Helodromas solitarius. 
Summer resident ; not common ; in migration, common ; 
breeds from plains to 10,000 feet. 

258a. Western willet. Symphemia semipalmata inor- 
nata. Summer resident ; not common ; common mi- 
grant, especially in the fall ; breeds from plains to 7,000 
feet. 

26l. Bartramian sandpiper. Bartramia longicauda. 
Common summer resident ; abundant in migration ; a bird 
of the plains ; rare west of mountains. 

263. Spotted sandpiper. Actitis macularia. Abun- 
dant summer resident ; breeds on the plains and at all 
intermediate altitudes to 12,000 feet, even on top of 
mountains of that height, if a lake or pond can be found ; 
in fall, ranges above timber-line to 1 4,000 feet ; some may 
remain throughout winter. 

264. Long-billed curlew. Numenius longirostris. 
Common summer resident ; breeds on the plains ; also in 



318 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Middle and South Parks; found on both sides of the 
range. 

265. Hudsonian curlew. Numenius hudsonicus. Rare 
migrant ; all records thus far from the plains ; general 
range, North America. 

270. Black-bellied plover. Squatarola squatarola. 
Migrant, not common ; bird of plains below 5,000 feet ; 
breeds far north. 

272. American golden plover. Charadrius dominicus. 
Migrant, not common ; same record as preceding. 

273. Killdeer. .ZEgialitis vocifera. Abundant sum- 
mer resident ; arrives early in spring ; breeds most abun- 
dantly on plains and at base of foothills, but is far from 
rare at an altitude of 10,000 feet. 

274. Semipalmated plover. jEgialitis semipalmata- 
Migrant, not common ; breeds near the Arctic Circle. 

281. Mountain plover. ^Egialitis Montana. Common 
summer resident ; in spite of its name, a bird of the plains 
rather than the mountains ; yet sometimes found in parks 
at an altitude of 8,000 and even 9,000 feet. Its numbers 
may be estimated from the fact that in one day of August 
a sportsman shot one hundred and twenty-six birds, though 
why he should indulge in such wholesale slaughter the 
author does not understand. 

283. Turnstone. Arenaria interpres. Rare migrant ; 
breeding grounds in the north ; cosmopolitan in range, but 
chiefly along sea-coasts. 

289. Bob-white. Colinus virginianus. Resident ; 
somewhat common locally ; good reason to believe that 
all the quails of the foothills are descendants of intro- 
duced birds, while those of the eastern border of the 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 319 

plains are native. A few were introduced some years ago 
into Estes Park, and are still occasionally noticed. 

293. Scaled partridge. Callipepla squamata. Resi- 
dent ; common locally ; southern species, but more com- 
mon than the bob-white at Rocky Ford, Col. 

294. California partridge. Lophortyx californicus. 
Resident, local ; introduced at Grand Junction, Col., and 
have flourished so abundantly as to become troublesome 
to gardeners. 

295. Gambel's partridge. Lophortyx gambelii. Resi- 
dent, rare ; known only in southwestern part of the 
State ; a western species. 

297. Dusky grouse. Dendragapus obscurus. Resi- 
dent ; mountain dwellers ; breed from 7,000 feet to 
timber-line ; in September wander above timber-line to 
12,500 feet, feeding on grasshoppers; remain in thick 
woods in winter. 

300b. Gray ruffed grouse. Bonasa umbellus umbel- 
loides. Rare resident ; a more northern species, but a 
few breed in Colorado just below timber-line ; winters 
in higher foothills. 

304. White- tailed ptarmigan. Lagopus leucurus. Com- 
mon resident ; one of the most strictly alpine species ; 
breeds entirely above timber-line from 11,500 to 13,500 
feet ; thence ranging to the summits of the highest peaks. 
Only in severest winter weather do they come down to 
timber-line; rarely to 8,000 feet. In winter they are 
white ; in summer fulvous or dull grayish-buff, barred and 
spotted with black. This bird is colloquially called the 
"mountain quail." The brown-capped leucosticte is the 
only other Colorado species that has so high a range. 



320 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

305. Prairie hen. Tympanuchus americanus. Resi- 
dent ; uncommon and local. 

308b. Prairie sharp-tailed grouse. Pedkecetes pha- 
sianellus campestris. Resident, not common ; once com- 
mon, but killed and driven out by pothunters ; some breed 
in Middle Park ; noted in winter at 9,500 feet. 

309- Sage grouse. Centrocercus urophasianus. Com- 
mon resident. " As its name implies, it is an inhabitant 
of the artemisia or sage-brush plains, and is scarcely found 
elsewhere." Ranges from plains to 9,500 feet. 

310. Mexican turkey. Meleagris gallopavo. Rare 
local resident ; southern part of the State. 

310a. "Wild turkey. Meleagris gallopavo fera. Resi- 
dent ; rare ; once abundant, but will probably soon be 
exterminated ; not certain whether Colorado birds are 
eastern or western forms. 

312. Band- tailed pigeon. Columba fasciata. Summer 
resident ; local ; breeds from 5,000 to 7,000 feet and 
occasionally higher. 

316. Mourning dove. Zenaidura macroura. Summer 
resident ; very abundant ; breeds everywhere below the 
pine region up to 10,000 feet, though usually a little 
lower ; in fall ranges up to 12,000 feet. 

319. "White-winged dove. Melopelia leucoptera. 
Four records of this straggler in Colorado ; its usual 
range is subtropical, though not uncommon as far north as 
the southern border of the United States. 

325. Turkey vulture. Cathartes aura. Common 
summer resident ; breeds from plains to 10,000 and even 
12,000 feet. 

327. Swallow-tailed kite. Elanoides forficatus. Sum- 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 321 

mer visitor ; rare or accidental ; bird of the plains, not 
regularly west of central Kansas. 

329- Mississippi kite. Ictinia mississippiexsis. Acci- 
dental ; two records ; a bird of eastern and southern 
Lnited States, and southward. 

331. Marsh hawk. Circus hudsonius. Common resi- 
dent ; most common in migration ; a few remain through- 
out winter ; breeds on plains, and in mountains to 10,000 
feet ; in fall may be seen at 14,000 feet. 

332. Sharp-shinned hawk. Accipiter velox. Com- 
mon resident ; much more common in mountains than 
on plains ; breeds up to 10,000 feet. 

333. Cooper's hawk. Accipiter cooperi. Common 
resident ; breeds from plains to 9,000 feet. 

334*. American goshawk. Accipiter atricapillus. 
Resident ; not uncommon ; breeds from 9,000 to 10,000 
feet ; more common in winter than summer. 

334a. "Western goshawk. Accipiter atricapillus 
striatulus. Winter visitor ; rare, if not accidental ; 
Pacific Coast form ; comes regularly as far east as 
Idaho. 

337a. Krider's hawk. Buteo borealis kriderii. Resi- 
dent ; not uncommon ; nests on the plains ; no certain 
record for the mountains. 

337b. "Western red-tail. Buteo borealis calurus. 
Abundant resident ; this is the Rocky Mountain form, 
of which Krider's hawk is the eastern analogue ; the 
ranges of the two forms overlap on the Colorado plains ; 
calurus breeds from plains to 12,000 feet ; not a few 
winter in the State. 

337d. Harlan's hawk. Buteo borealis harlani. Rare 



322 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

winter visitor ; one specimen ; natural habitat, Gulf States 
and lower Mississippi Valley. 

339b. Red-bellied hawk. Buteo lineatus elegans. 
Rare migrant ; Pacific coast species. 

342. Swainson's hawk. Buteo swainsoni. Common 
resident; breeds everywhere below 11,000 feet. 

347a. American rough-legged hawk. Archibuteo la- 
gopus sancti-johannis. Somewhat common winter resi- 
dent ; arrives from the north in November and remains 
till March. 

348. Ferruginous rough-leg. Archibuteo ferrugi- 
neus. Rather common resident ; breeds on plains and 
in mountains ; winters mostly on plains and along lower 
streams. 

349. Golden eagle. Aquila chrysaetos. Resident; 
common in favorable localities ; breeds from foothills to 
12,500 feet; in winter on plains and also in mountains, 
often at 11,000 feet. 

352. Bald eagle. Hali^etus leucocephalus. Fairly 
common resident ; mostly in mountains in summer ; on 
plains in winter. 

355. Prairie falcon. Falco mexicanus. Not uncom- 
mon resident; breeds from plains to 10,000 feet; quite 
numerous in more open portions of western Colorado. 

356. Duck hawk. Falco peregrinus anatum. Resi- 
dent ; not uncommon locally ; breeds up to 10,000 feet. 

357. Pigeon hawk. Falco columbarius. Summer resi- 
dent ; not common ; usual breeding grounds 8,000 to 
9,000 feet ; some breed on the plains. 

358. Richardson s merlin. Falco richardsonii. Rare 
summer resident ; not uncommon in migration ; naturalists 






CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 323 

not quite sure that it breeds in the State ; has been taken 
in summer at an altitude of 11,000 feet. 

360. American sparrow hawk. Falco sparverius. 
Abundant resident ; the most common hawk from the 
plains to 11,000 feet; some winter in State; breeds 
throughout its range. 

360a. Desert sparrow hawk. Falco sparverius deser- 
ticolus. Resident, though rare ; taken in Middle and 
South Parks. 

364*. American osprey. Pandion haliaetus caroli- 
nensis. Summer resident ; not uncommon locally ; breeds 
as high as 9^,000 feet ; has been taken in fall at an altitude 
of 10,500 feet. 

365. American barn owl. Strix pratincola. Resi- 
dent ; quite rare ; a southern species rarely coming so far 
north as Colorado. 

366. American long-eared owl. Asio wilsonianus. Com- 
mon resident ; winters from plains to 1 0,000 feet ; breeds 
from plains to 11,000 feet ; eggs laid early in April. 

367. Short-eared owl. Asio accipitrinus. Resident, 
but not common ; highest record 9p00 feet. 

368. Barred owl. Syrnium nebulosum. Resident; 
few records ; one breeding pair found in the northeastern 
part of the State. 

369- Spotted owl. Syrnium occidentale. Resident; 
not common ; a little doubt as to its identity ; but Mr. 
Aiken vouches for its presence in the State. 

371. Richardson's owl. Nyctala tengmalmi richard- 
soni. Rare winter visitor ; a northern species. 

372. Saw-whet owl. Nyctala acadica. Resident ; not 
uncommon ; occurs throughout the State below 8,000 feet. 



324 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

373. Screech owl. Magascops asio. Rare resident ; 
the eastern analogue of the next. 

373e. Rocky Mountain screech owl. Magascops 
asio maxwelli^e. Common resident ; found from plains 
and foothills to about 6,000 feet ; rare visitant at nearly 
9,000 feet. 

373g. Aiken's screech owl. Megascops asio aikeni. 
Resident ; limited to from 5,000 to 9,000 feet. 

374. Flammulated screech owl. Megascops flammeola. 
Rare resident ; rarest owl in Colorado, if not in the United 
States ; ten instances of breeding, all in Colorado ; twenty- 
three records in all for the State. 

375a. Western horned owl. Bubo virginianus palles- 
cens. Common resident ; breeds on the plains and in the 
mountains. 

375b. Arctic horned owl. Bubo virginianus arcti- 
cus. Winter visitor ; not uncommon ; breeds in arctic 
America. 

376. Snowy owl. Nyctea nyctea. Rare winter vis- 
itor ; occurs on the plains and in the lower foothills ; 
range in summer, extreme northern portions of northern 
hemisphere. 

378. Burrowing owl. Speotyto cunicularia hypog.ea. 
Resident ; abundant locally ; breeds on plains and up to 
9,000 feet. 

379- Pygmy owl. Glaucidium gnoma. Resident ; 
rare ; favorite home in the mountains ; breeds as high as 
10,000 feet. 

382. Carolina paroquet. Conurus carolinensis. For- 
merly resident ; few records ; general range, east and 
south ; now almost exterminated. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 325 

385. Road-runner. Geococcyx californianus. Resi- 
dent ; not common ; restricted to southern portion of the 
State ; breeds throughout its range ; rare above 5,000 
feet, though one was found in the Wet Mountains at an 
altitude of 8,000 feet. 

387. Yellow-billed cuckoo. Coccyzus americanus. 
Rare summer visitor, on the authority of Major Bendire. 

387a. California cuckoo. Coccyzus americanus occi- 
dentals. Summer resident ; not uncommon locally ; 
mostly found on the edge of the plains, but occasionally 
up to 8,000 feet in mountains. 

388. Black-billed cuckoo. Coccyzus erythrophthal- 
mus. Rare migrant ; only two records. 

390. Belted kingfisher. Ceryle alcyon. Common 
resident ; breeds from plains to 10,000 feet ; a few remain 
in winter. 

393e. Rocky Mountain hairy 'woodpecker. Dryo- 
bates villosus monticola. Common resident ; breeds 
from plains to 11,000 feet; winter range almost the 
same. 

394c. Downy woodpecker. Dryobates pubescens 
medianus. Visitor; rare, if not accidental. 

394b. Batchelders woodpecker. Dryobates pubescens 
homorus. Common resident ; breeding range from plains 
to 11,500 feet; winter range from plains to 10,000 feet. 

396. Texan woodpecker. Dryobates scalaris bairdi. 
Resident ; rare and local ; southern range generally. 

401b. Alpine three-toed woodpecker. Picoides amer- 
icanus dorsalis. Resident ; not common ; a mountain 
bird; range, 8,000 to 12,000 feet; even in winter remains 
in the pine belt at about 10,000 feet. 






326 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

402. Yellow-bellied sapsucker. Sphyrapicus varius. 
Rare migrant; eastern form, scarcely reaching the base 
of the Rockies. 

402a. Red-naped sapsucker. Sphyrapicus varius nu- 
chalis. Common summer resident ; breeds from plains 
to 12,000 feet, but partial to the mountains. Author saw 
one at Green Lake. 

404. "Williamson's sapsucker. Sphyrapicus thyroi- 
deus. Common summer resident ; breeds from 5,000 feet 
to upper limits of the pines ; range higher in the southern 
part of the State than in the northern. 

405a. Northern pileated woodpecker. Ceophiaeus 
pileatus abieticola. Resident ; very rare ; only probably 
identified. 

406. Red-headed woodpecker. Melanerpes erythro- 
cephalus. Common summer resident ; breeds from plains 
to 10,000 feet; late spring arrival; same form in the East 
and West. 

408. Lewis's woodpecker. Melanerpes torquatus. 
Common resident ; characteristic bird of the foothills ; 
sometimes seen as high as 10,000 feet in southern Colo- 
rado ; probably does not breed above 9,000 feet. 

409- Redbellied woodpecker. Melanerpes caroli- 
nus. Summer visitor ; rare, if not accidental ; eastern and 
southern species, not occurring regularly west of central 
Kansas. 

412a. Northern nicker. Colaptes auratus luteus. 
Rare migrant ; range extends only to foothills ; no record 
of its breeding. 

413. Red-shafted flicker. Colaptes cafer. Abundant 
summer resident; breeds from plains to 12,000 feet; 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 327 

almost as plentiful at its highest range as on the plains ; 
early spring arrival ; a few winter in the State. 

418. Poor- will. Phal.enoptilus nuttallii. Common 
summer resident ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet ; has 
been noted up to 10,000 feet. 

418a. Frosted poor-will. Phal^enoptilus nuttallii 
nitidus. Rare summer resident ; few typical nitidus taken ; 
a more southern variety. 

420a. Western nighthawk. Chordeiles virginianus 
henryi. Abundant summer resident ; breeds on the plains 
and up to about 11,000 feet; in fall ranges up to 12,000 
feet ; most common on plains and in foothills. 

422. Black swift. Cypseloides Niger borealis. Sum- 
mer resident ; abundant locally ; southwestern part of the 
State; breeds from 10,000 to 12,000 feet, and ranges up 
to 13,000 feet. 

425. White-throated swift. Aeronautes melanoleucus. 
Summer resident ; not uncommon locally ; breeds in inac- 
cessible rocks from 6,000 to 12,000 feet, if not higher; 
most common in southern part of the State. 

429. Black-chinned humming-bird. Trochilus alexan- 
dri. Slimmer resident ; local ; only in southwestern part 
of the State, and below 6,000 feet. 

432. Broad-tailed humming-bird. Selasphorus platy- 
cercus. Common summer resident ; Colorado's most com- 
mon hummer ; breeds from foothills to 1 1,000 feet : ranges 
2,000 feet above timber-line in summer. 

433. Rufous humming-bird. Selasphorus rufus. Sum- 
mer resident ; local ; a western species, coming into south- 
western Colorado, where it breeds from 7,000 to 10,000 
feet, and ranges in summer several thousand feet higher ; 
■a few records east of the range. 



328 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

436. Calliope humming-bird. Stellula calliope. Sum- 
mer visitor ; rare or accidental ; but two records, one near 
Breckenridge at an altitude of 9,500 feet ; western species. 

443. Scissor-tailed flycatcher. Milvulus forficatus. 
Summer visitor ; rare or accidental ; but one record ; 
southern range, and more eastern. 

444. Kingbird. Tyrannus tyrannus. Common summer 
resident ; occurs only on plains and in foothills up to 
6,000 feet ; same form as the eastern kingbird. 

447. Arkansas kingbird. Tyrannus verticalis. Com- 
mon summer resident ; more common in eastern than 
western part of the State ; fond of the plains and foot- 
hills, yet breeds as high as 8,000 feet. 

448. Cassin's kingbird. Tyrannus vociferans. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds on plains and up to 9,000 
feet in mountains ; occurs throughout the State. 

454. Ash-throated flycatcher. Myiarchus cinerascens. 
Rare summer resident ; western species, coming east to 
western edge of plains. 

455a. Olivaceous flycatcher. Myiarchus lawrencei 
olivascens. Summer visitor, rare, if not accidental ; a 
southern species ; taken once in Colorado. 

456. Phoebe. Sayornis phozbe. Rare summer visitor ; 
comes west to eastern border of the State. 

457. Say's phoebe. Sayornis saya. Common summer 
resident ; most common on the plains ; occurs on both 
sides of the range ; the author found it a little above 
Malta, at Glenwood, and in South Park. 

459. Olive-sided flycatcher. Contopus borealis. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds only in the mountains, from 
7,000 to 12,000 feet. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 329 

462. "Western wood pewee. Contopus richardsonii. 
Common summer resident ; most common in breeding 
season from 7,000 to 11,000 feet. 

464. Western flycatcher. Empidonax difficilis. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds from plains to 10,000 feet, 
but most common in upper part of its range. 

466. Traill's flycatcher. Empidonax traillii. Fairly 
common summer resident ; most common on the plains, 
but occurs in mountains up to 8,000 feet ; breeds through- 
out its Colorado range. 

467. Least flycatcher. Empidonax minimus. Rare 
migrant ; west to eastern foothills ; probably breeds, but 
no nests have been found. 

468. Hammond's flycatcher. Empidonax hammondi. 
Common summer resident ; comes east only to the western 
edge of the plains ; breeds as high as 9,000 feet. 

469. Wright's flycatcher. Empidonax wrightii. Abun- 
dant summer resident; breeds from 7,500 feet to 10,000. 

474a. Pallid horned lark. Otocoris alpestris leuco- 
LiEMA. Abundant winter resident ; literature on this bird 
somewhat confused on account, no doubt, of its close re- 
semblance to the next ; winters on the plains abundantly, 
and sparsely in the mountains. 

474c. Desert horned lark. Otocoris alpestris areni- 
cola. Abundant resident; winters on plains and in 
mountains up to 9,000 feet ; breeds from plains to 1 3,000 
feet ; raises two broods. 

475. American magpie. Pica pica hudsonica. Com- 
mon resident ; breeds commonly on the plains and in the 
foothills and lower mountains ; a few breed as high as 
11,000 feet. 



330 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

478b. Long-crested jay. Cyanocitta stelleri diade- 
mata. Common resident ; seldom strays far east of the 
foothills; breeds from base of foothills to timber-line; 
winter range from edge of plains almost to 1 0,000 feet. 

480. Woodhouse's jay. Aphelocoma woodhousei. Com- 
mon resident; most common along the base of foothills 
and lower wooded mountains ; sometimes breeds as high 
as 8,000 feet; in fall roams up to 9,500 in special 
instances. 

484a. Rocky Mountain jay. Perisoreus canadensis 
capitalis. Common resident ; remains near timber-line 
throughout the year. 

486. American raven. Corvus corax sinuatus. Res- 
ident ; common locally ; breeds ; rather of western Colo- 
rado, but visitant among eastern mountains. 

487. White-necked raven. Corvus crvptoleucus. Rare 
resident now ; formerly abundant along eastern base of 
the front range and a hundred miles out on the plains ; 
now driven out by advent of white man. 

488. American crow. Corvus americanus. Resident ; 
common in northeastern Colorado ; rare in the rest of the 
State. 

491. Clark's nutcracker. Nucifraga Columbiana. 
Abundant resident ; a mountain bird ; breeds from 7,000 
to 12,000 feet; sometimes in fall gathers in "enormous 
flocks " ; at that season wanders up to at least 13,000 feet ; 
most remain in the mountains through the winter, though 
a few descend to the plains. 

492. Pinon jay. Cyanocephalus cyanocephalus. Res- 
ident ; abundant locally ; breeds almost exclusively among 
the pinon pines; keeps in small parties during breeding 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 331 

season ; then gathers in large flocks ; wandering up to 
10,000 feet. 

494. Bobolink. Dolichonyx oryzivorus. Rare sum- 
mer visitor. 

495. Cowbird. Molothrus ater. Common summer 
resident ; breeds from plains to about 8,000 feet ; author 
saw several in South Park. 

497. Yellow-headed blackbird. Xanthocephalus xan- 
thocephalus. Common summer resident; breeds in suit- 
able places on the plains and in mountain parks. 

498. Red-winged blackbird. Agelaius phceniceus. 
Common summer resident; breeds mostly below 7,500 
feet, though occasionally ascends to 9,000. 

501b. Western meadow-lark. Sturnella magna neg- 
lecta. Abundant summer resident. 

506. Orchard oriole. Icterus spurius. Summer vis- 
itor ; rare, if not accidental. 

507. Baltimore oriole. Icterus galbula. Marked 
as a rare summer resident, though no record of 
nesting. 

508. Bullock's oriole. Icterus bullocki. Abundant 
summer resident ; breeds on plains and in mountain regions 
below 10,000 feet. 

509. Rusty blackbird. Scolecophagus carolinus. 
Migrant ; rare, if not accidental ; two records. 

510. Brewer's blackbird. Scolecophagus cyanocepha- 
lus. Abundant summer resident. 

511b. Bronzed grackle. Quiscalus quiscula ^eneus. 
Summer resident ; not uncommon locally ; comes only to 
eastern base of mountains. 

514a. Western evening grosbeak. Coccothraustes 



332 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

vespertinus montanus. Resident ; found every month of 
the year ; no nests found, but evidently breeds. 

515a. Rocky Mountain pine grosbeak. Pinicola enu- 
cleator Montana. Resident ; not uncommon ; most com- 
mon in late summer and fall when most of them are just 
below timber-line ; stragglers descend to foothills and 
plains. 

517. Purple finch. Carpodacus purpureus. Migrant; 
rare, if not accidental ; only one specimen, and that a 
female. 

518. Cassin's purple finch. Carpodacus cassini. Com- 
mon resident ; winters from plains to 7,000 feet ; breeds 
from that altitude to 10,000 feet. 

519- House finch. Carpodacus mexicanus frontalis. 
Abundant resident. 

521a. Mexican crossbill. Loxia curvirostra strick- 
landi. Resident ; not uncommon ; has been seen in sum- 
mer at 11,000 feet; breeds in mountains, perhaps in 
winter like its eastern antitype. 

522. "White-winged crossbill. Loxia leucoptera. Rare 
winter visitor ; one record. 

524. Gray-crowned leucosticte. Leucosticte tephro- 
cotis. Rare winter visitor ; western species. 

524a. Hepburn's leucosticte. Leucosticte tephrocotis 
littoralis. Rare winter visitor ; summers in the North. 

525. Black leucosticte. Leucosticte atrata. Rare 
winter visitor ; summer range unknown ; winters in the 
Rockies. 

526. Brown-capped leucosticte. Leucosticte austra- 
lis. This little bird and the white-tailed ptarmigan have 
the highest summer range of any Colorado birds. 






CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 333 

528. Redpoll. Acanthis linaria. Common winter resi- 
dent ; lives from plains to 10., 000 feet. 

528b. Greater redpoll. Acanthis linaria rostrata. 
Rare or accidental winter visitor ; one record. 

529. American goldfinch. Astragalinus tristis. Resi- 
dent ; quite common in summer ; sometimes reaches 
10,000 feet. 

529a. "Western goldfinch. Astragalinus tristis pal- 
lidus. Migrant ; probably common ; added by Mr. Aiken. 

530. Arkansas goldfinch. Astragalinus psaltria. 
Common summer resident ; breeds from plains to over 
9,000 feet. 

530a. Arizona goldfinch. Astragalinus psaltria Ari- 
zona. Summer resident ; not common. 

530b. Mexican goldfinch. Astragalinus psaltria mexi- 
canus. Rare, but believed to be a summer resident at 
Trinidad. 

533. Pine siskin. Spinus pinus. Common resident ; 
breeding range from plains to timber-line. 

000. English sparrow. Passer domesticus. Rapidly 
increasing in numbers ; has settled at points west of the 
range. 

534;. Snowflake. Passerina nivalis. Rare -winter vis- 
itor ; one record west of the range ; several east. 

536a. Alaskan longspur. Calcarius lapponicus alas- 
censis. Common winter resident ; breeds far north. 

538. Chestnut-collared longspur. Calcarius ornatus. 
Rare summer resident; winter resident, not common; 
common in migration. 

539. McCown's longspur. Rhyncophanes mccownii. 
Common winter resident, dwelling on the plains. 



334, BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

540a, Western vesper sparrow. Poocetes gramineus 
confinis. Abundant summer resident ; breeds from plains 
to 12,000 feet. 

542b. Western savanna sparrow. Ammodramus sand- 
wichensis alaudinus. Common summer resident; breeds 
from base of foothills to almost 12,000 feet. 

54,5. Baird's sparrow. Ammodramus bairdii. Migrant ; 
not common ; a number taken east of the range, and one 
west. 

546a. Western grasshopper sparrow. Ammodramus 
savannarum perpallidus. Not uncommon summer resi- 
dent; breeds on plains and in lower foothills. 

552a. Western lark sparrow. Chondestes grammacus 
strigatus. Common summer resident ; breeds on plains 
and in mountain parks to 10,000 feet. 

553. Harris's sparrow. Zonotrichia querula. Rare 
migrant ; abundant migrant in Kansas. 

554. White-crowned sparrow. Zonotrichia leuco- 
phrys. Abundant summer resident. 

554a. Intermediate sparrow. Zonotrichia leucophrys 
gambelii. Common migrant, both east and west of the 
range ; breeds north of the United States. 

557. Golden-crowned sparrow. Zonotrichia coronata. 
Accidental winter visitor ; Pacific Coast species ; breeds in 
Alaska. 

558. White-throated sparrow. Zonotrichia albicollis. 
Rare migrant ; but three records. 

559a. Western tree sparrow. Spizella monticola 
ochracea. Common winter resident ; mostly on plains 
and in lower mountains. 

560. Chipping sparrow. Spizella socialis. Rare sum- 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 335 

mer resident ; common in migration ; goes as far west as 
base of the mountains. 

560a. "Western chipping sparrow. Spizella socialis 
Arizona. Abundant summer resident; breeds from base 
of foothills to 10,000 feet. 

561. Clay-colored sparrow. Spizella pallida. Sum- 
mer resident ; not uncommon ; scattered over State east of 
mountains. 

562. Brewer's sparrow. Spizella breweri. Summer 
resident ; not uncommon ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet. 

566. White-winged j unco. Juncoaikeni. Common win- 
ter resident ; on plains and 8,000 feet up in the mountains. 

567. Slate-colored junco. Junco hyemalis. Winter 
resident ; not common ; not found above 8,000 feet. 

567b. Shufeldt's junco. Junco hyemalis connectens. 
Abundant winter resident ; most common in southern part 
of the State ; not uncommon elsewhere. 

567.1. Montana junco. Junco montanus. Winter vis- 
itor ; not uncommon. 

068. Pink-sided junco. Junco mearnsi. Common 
winter resident ; plentiful at base of foothills in winter ; 
in spring ascend to 10,000 feet; then leaves the State for 
the North. 

568.1. Ridgway's junco. Junco annectens. Rare win- 
ter visitor ; one record. 

569- Gray -headed junco. Junco caniceps. Abundant 
resident; breeds from 7,500 to 12,000 feet; sometimes 
rears three broods. 

570a. Red-backed junco. Junco pileonotus dorsalis. 
Rare migrant ; abundant just south of State. 

573a. Desert sparrow. Amphispiza bilineata deserti- 



336 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

cola. Summer resident; not uncommon locally; found 
only in southwestern part of the State. 

574a. Sage sparrow. Amphispiza belli nevadensis. 
Abundant summer resident ; common on sage-brush plains 
of western and southwestern Colorado ; ranges as far east 
as San Luis Park and north to Cheyenne, Wyoming. 

581. Song-sparrow. Melospiza fasciata. Rare mi- 
grant; found only at eastern border of State. 

581b. Mountain song-sparrow. Melospiza fasciata 
Montana. Common summer resident ; a few remain on 
plains in mild winters ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet. 

583. Lincoln's sparrow. Melospiza lincolni. Com- 
mon summer resident ; abundant in migration ; breeds 
from base of foothills to timber-line. 

584. Swamp sparrow. Melospiza georgiana. Acci- 
dental summer visitor ; one record. 

585c. Slate-colored sparrow. Passerella iliaca schis- 
tacea. Rare summer resident ; only three records. 

588. Arctic towhee. Pipilo maculatus arcticus. Win- 
ter resident ; not uncommon ; comes to base of Rocky 
Mountains in winter ; breeds in the North, as far as the 
Saskatchewan River. 

588a. Spurred towhee. Pipilo maculatus megalonyx. 
Common summer resident ; upper limit, 9,000 feet. 

591. Canon towhee. Pipilo fuscus mesoleucus. Resi- 
dent ; common locally ; all records from Arkansas Valley ; 
rare at an altitude of 10,000 feet. 

592. Abert's towhee. Pipilo aberti. Rare summer 
resident ; species abundant in New Mexico and Arizona. 

592.1. Green-tailed towhee. Oreospiza chlorura, 
Common summer resident ; melodious songster. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 337 

593. Cardinal. Cardinalis cardinalis. Winter visitor ; 
rare, if not accidental ; two records. 

595. Rose-breasted grosbeak. Zamelodia ludoviciana. 
Accidental summer resident ; one record. 

596- Black-headed grosbeak. Zamelodia melanoceph- 
ala. Common summer resident ; breeds from plains to 
8,500 feet; has been seen at 10,000 feet. 

597a. Western blue grosbeak. Guiraca c<erulea la- 
zula. Summer resident ; not uncommon locally ; southern 
part of State ; author saw one pair at Colorado Springs. 

598. Indigo bunting. Cyanospiza cyanea. Rare sum- 
mer visitor ; range, farther east. 

599- Lazuli bunting. Cyanospiza amozna. Abundant 
summer resident ; does not breed far up in the mountains, 
but has been taken at 9^100 feet. 

604. Dickcissel. Spiza Americana. Rare summer resi- 
dent ; only on plains and in foothills. 

605. Lark bunting. Calamospiza melanocorys. Abun- 
dant summer resident ; very plentiful on the plains ; some- 
times breeds as far up in mountains as 9^000 feet. 

607. Louisiana tanager. Piranga ludoviciana. Com- 
mon summer resident ; in migration common on the plains, 
but breeds from 6,000 to 10,000 feet. 

608. Scarlet tanager. Piranga erythromelas. Rare 
migrant. 

6l0a. Cooper's tanager. Piranga rubra cooperi. Rare 
or accidental summer visitor ; abundant in New Mexico 
and Arizona ; only one record for Colorado. 

6ll. Purple martin. Progne subis. Summer resident ; 
local ; rare in eastern, quite common in western part of the 

State. 

22 



338 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

612. Cliff-swallow. Petrochelidon lunifrons. Abun- 
dant summer resident ; breeds everywhere from plains to 
10,000 feet ; nests on cliffs and beneath eaves. 

613. Barn swallow. Hirundo erythrogaster. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds from plains to 10,000 feet. 

614. Tree swallow. Tachycineta bicolor. Summer 
resident ; not uncommon ; breeds occasionally on the 
plains; more frequently in mountains up to 10,000 
feet. 

615. Violet-green swallow. Tachycineta thalassina. 
Summer resident ; abundant locally ; a few breed on 
plains ; more commonly from 6,000 to 10,500 feet. 

616. Bank swallow. Clivicola riparia. Rare sum- 
mer resident ; rarest Colorado swallow ; from plains to 
foothills. 

617. Rough-winged swallow. Stelgidopteryx serri- 
pennis. Summer resident ; not uncommon ; breeds below 
7,500 feet. 

61 8. Bohemian waxwing. Ampelis garrulus. Winter 
resident ; not uncommon ; breeds north of the United 
States. 

619- Cedar waxwing. Ampelis cedrorum. Resident ; 
not common ; breeds from plains to about 9,000 feet. 

621. Northern shrike. Lanius borealis. Common win- 
ter resident; on its return from the North in October it 
first appears above timber-line, then descends to the 
plains. 

622a. White-rumped shrike. Lanius i.udovicianus ex- 
cubitorides. Common summer resident ; breeds mostlv 
on the plains; sometimes in mountains up to 9,500 
feet. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 339 

6'24<. Red-eyed vireo. Vireo olivaceus. Rare summer 
resident ; an eastern species, coming only to base of foot- 
hills ; still, one was taken at 11,000 feet. 

627. Warbling vireo. Vireo gilvus. Common summer 
resident ; breeds sparingly on the plains ; commonly in 
mountains up to 10,000. 

629a. Cassins vireo. Vireo solitarius cassinii. Rare 
or accidental summer visitor ; not known to breed ; a 
southwestern species. 

629b. Plumbeous vireo. Vireo solitarius plumbeus. 
Summer resident ; common ; breeds in foothills and moun- 
tains up to over 9,000 feet. 

636. Black and -white warbler. Mniotilta varia. Rare 
summer visitor ; two records. 

644. Virginia's warbler. Helminthophila virginle. 
Common summer resident ; western bird, but breeds along 
eastern base of foothills. 

6^6. Orange-crowned warbler. Helminthophila cel- 
ata. Summer resident ; not uncommon ; common mi- 
grant ; breeds from 6,000 to 9,000 feet. 

646a. Lutescent warbler. Helminthophila celata lu- 
tescens. Summer resident ; not uncommon ; western form 
of the orange-crowned warbler ; ranges to eastern base of 
mountains. 

647. Tennessee warbler. Helminthophila peregrina. 
Rare migrant ; eastern Colorado to base of mountains. 

648. Parula warbler. Compsothlypis Americana. Rare 
summer resident ; comes to base of foothills. 

652. Yellow warbler. Dendroica ^estiva. Abundant 
summer resident ; breeds up to 8,000 feet. 

60 2a. Sonora yellow warbler. Dendroica ^estiva so- 



340 BIRDS OF THE' ROCKIES 

norana. Summer resident ; probably common ; to the 
southwest cestiva shades into sonorana. 

654>. Black-throated blue -warbler. Dendroica c^eru- 
lescens. Rare migrant ; one record. 

655. Myrtle warbler. Dendroica coronata. Common 
migrant ; scarcely known west of the range. 

656. Audubon's warbler. Dendroica auduboni. 
Abundant summer resident ; breeds from 7,000 to 11,000 
feet. 

657. Magnolia warbler. Dendroica maculosa. Rare 
migrant ; breeds northward. 

658. Cerulean warbler. Dendroica rara. Rare mi- 
grant; one record. 

66 1. Black-poll warbler. Dendroica striata. Rare 
summer resident ; sometimes common in migration ; one 
breeding record for the State — at Seven Lakes ; altitude, 
11,000 feet. 

664<. Grace's warbler. Dendroica gracle. Summer resi- 
dent ; common in extreme southwestern part of the State. 

665. Black-throated gray -warbler. Dendroica ni- 
grescens. Summer resident ; not infrequent ; breeds in 
pinon hills near Canon City. 

668. Townsend's warbler. Dendroica townsendi. 
Summer resident ; not uncommon ; western species, com- 
ing east to base of foothills and a few miles out on plains ; 
breeds from 5,500 to 8,000 feet in western Colorado ; in 
fall it is found as high as 10,000 feet. 

672. Palm warbler. Dendroica palmarum. Rare or 
accidental migrant ; one specimen seen. 

674. Oven-bird. Seiurus aurocapillus. Rare breeder, 
on Mr. Aiken's authority. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 341 

675a. Grinnell's water thrush. Seiurus noveboracensis 
xotabilis. Rare migrant ; appearing from plains to 8,000 
feet. 

678. Connecticut warbler. Geothlypis agilis. Rare 
or accidental migrant ; one record by Mr. Aiken. 

680. Mac gillivr ay's warbler. Geothlypis tolmiei. 
Common summer resident ; breeds from base of foothills 
to 9,000 feet. 

681. Maryland yellow-throat. Geothlypis trichas. 
One taken at Colorado Springs by Mr. Aiken. 

681a. Western yellow-throat. Geothlypis trichas 
occidentals. Common summer resident,, almost restricted 
to the plains ; both sides of the range. 

683. Yellow-breasted chat. Icteria virens. Acci- 
dental summer visitor. 

683a. Long-tailed chat. Icteria virens longicauda. 
Common summer resident ; scarcely found in the moun- 
tains, but frequent in the lower foothills and on the plains ; 
never seen above 8,000 feet. 

685. Wilson's warbler. Wilsonia pusilla. Abundant 
summer resident ; centre of abundance in breeding season, 
11,000 feet; known to breed at 12,000 feet; also as low 
as 6,000. 

685a. Pileolated warbler. Wilsonia pusilla pileolata. 
Summer resident ; not uncommon ; Mr. Aiken thinks it as 
plentiful as preceding. 

686. Canadian warbler. Wilsonia canadensis. Rare 
or accidental migrant ; one record by Mr. Aiken. 

687. American redstart. Setophaga ruticilla. Sum- 
mer resident ; not uncommon in eastern, rare in western, 
Colorado ; breeds below 8,000 feet. 



342 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

697. American pipit. Anthus pensilvanicus. Com- 
mon summer resident ; breeds only on summits of the 
mountains. 

701. American dipper. Cinclus mexicanus. Resi- 
dent ; common in favorite localities ; one seen above 
timber-line in October. 

702. Sage thrasher. Oroscoptes montanus. Summer 
resident; breeds from plains to nearly 10,000 feet; west- 
ern species, coming east to mountain slopes. 

703. Mocking-bird. Mimus polyglottos. Summer resi- 
dent ; common locally ; mostly on plains, but sometimes 
reaches 8,000 feet. 

704. Catbird. Galeoscoptes carolinensis. Common 
summer resident; from plains to 8,000 feet. 

705. Brown thrasher. Harporhvnchus rufus. Not 
uncommon as summer resident ; almost restricted to the 
plains. 

708. Bendire's thrasher. Harporhynchus bendirei. 
Summer resident ; rare and local ; south central part of 
State. 

715. Rock wren. Salpinctes obsoletus. Common 
summer resident; breeds from plains to 12,000 feet. 

71 7a. Canon wren. Catherpes mexicanus conspersus. 
Rare resident ; one nest recorded. 

719b. Baird'swren. Thryomanes bewickii leucogaster. 
Rare summer resident. 

721b. Western house wren. Troglodytes aedon azte- 
cus. Common summer resident ; from plains to 10,000 
feet; raises two broods, sometimes three. 

722. Winter wren. Anorthura hiemalis. Rare resi- 
dent; no nest found. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 343 

725a. Tule" wren. Cistothorus paludicola. Summer 
resident ; not uncommon ; breeds from plains to 8,000 feet ; 
some remain all winter in hot- water swamps. 

725c. Western marsh -wren. Cistothorus palustris 
plesius. Summer resident ; not uncommon locally. 

726b. Rocky Mountain creeper. Certhia familiaris 
Montana. Common resident ; in breeding season con- 
fined to the immediate vicinity of timber-line, where some 
remain the year round. 

727. White-breasted nuthatch. Sitta carolinensis. 
Resident ; not common. 

727a. Slender-billed nuthatch. Sitta carolinensis acu- 
leata. Common resident; western form; commonly 
breeds from 7,500 feet to timber-line. 

728. Red-breasted nuthatch. Sitta canadensis. Not 
uncommon resident ; migrant on the plains ; resident in 
the mountains to about 8,000 feet, sometimes 10,000. 

730. Pigmy nuthatch. Sitta pygm^ea. Abundant resi- 
dent ; mountain bird ; makes scarcely any migration ; 
most common from 7,000 to 10,000 feet. 

733a. Gray titmouse. Parus inornatus griseus. Resi- 
dent ; not common ; southern species, coming to eastern 
foothills. 

735a. Long-tailed chickadee. Parus atricapillus sep- 
tentrionalis. Not uncommon resident ; winters on plains 
and in foothills; breeds from 7,000 to 10,000 feet; some- 
times on plains. 

738. Mountain chickadee. Parus gambeli. Abundant 
resident ; nests from 8,000 feet to timber-line ; ranges in 
the fall to the tops of the loftiest peaks. 

744. Lead-colored bu3h-tit. Psaltriparus plumbeus. 



344 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Resident ; not common ; western species, coming to eastern 
foothills. 

748. Golden-crowned kinglet. Regulus satrapa. Rare 
summer resident ; rather common in migration ; breeds 
only near timber-line at about 11,000. 

749- Ruby-crowned kinglet. Regulus calendula. 
Abundant summer resident; breeds from 9,000 feet to 
timber-line. 

751. Blue-gray gnatcatcher. Polioptila c^erulea. 
Rare summer resident ; breeds on the plains and in the 
foothills. 

754. Townsend's solitaire. Myadestes townsendii. 
Common resident; breeds from 8,000 to 12,000 feet; 
winters in mountains, though stragglers are sometimes 
seen on the plains. The author saw a pair on plains near 
Arvada, in company with a young, well-fledged bird. 

756a. Willow thrush. Hylocichla fuscescens salici- 
cola. Summer resident ; rather common ; breeds in foot- 
hills and parks up to about 8,000 feet. 

758a. Olive-backed thrush. Hylocichla ustulata 
swainsonii. Rare migrant. 

758c. Alma's thrush. Hylocichla ustulata alamje. 
Rare summer resident ; in migration common. 

759. Dwarf hermit thrush. Hylocichla aonalaschk.e. 
Rare migrant. 

759a. Audubon's hermit thrush. Hylocichla aona- 
laschk^e auduboni. Common summer resident ; breeds 
from 8,000 feet to timber-line. 

759b. Hermit thrush. Hylocichla aonalaschk^e pal- 
lasii. Rare migrant ; comes to the eastern edge of Colo- 
rado, just touching range of auduboni. 



CHECK-LIST OF COLORADO BIRDS 34,5 

76 1. American robin. Merula migratoria. Summer 
resident, but not common ; some interesting questions 
arise in connection with intermediate forms. 

76la. "Western robin. Merula migratoria propixqua. 
Abundant summer resident ; breeds from plains to timber- 
line. 

76oa. Greenland wheatear. Saxicola ozxaxthe leuco- 
rhoa. European species ; a straggler taken at Boulder by 
Minot. 

766. Bluebird. Sialia sialis. Rare summer resident ; 
west to base of Rockies. 

767a. Chestnut-backed bluebird. Sialia mexicana 
bairdi. Summer resident ; not common ; western form, 
coming east as far as Pueblo. 

768. Mountain bluebird. Sialia arctica. Abundant 
summer resident ; breeds from plains to timber-line ; in 
autumn roams up to at least 13,000 feet. 



INDEX 



INDEX 



Aerial song, 50, 51, 86, 87, 239, 268-270, 286, 287, 299-301. 
Aiken, Charles E., xiii, 50, 63, 67, 118, 134, 136, 157, 161. 
Arvada, 193, 194, 278, 289, 301. 

Blackbird, Brewer's, 25, 98, 125, 126, 133, 139, 140, 141, 187, 215, 
230, -259, 264, 266, 268, 271-274. 

red-winged, 98, 142, 215, 271. 

yellow-headed, 141, 142. 
Bluebird, mountain, 22, 55, 67, 99, 128, 192, 231, 237, 259. 
Bobolink, 286, 287, 289. 
Boulder, 162, 178, 184, 186, 206, 279, 282. 
Breckenridge, 259, 293, 294, 302. 

Buena Vista, 32, 38, 112, 127, 132-136, 139, 146, 162, 193, 267. 
Bunting, lark, 187, 285-292. 

lazuli (also called finch), 25, 121, 154-159, 178, 187, 290. 
Burro ride, 223-?-. 
Butterflies, 177, 252, 253, 266. 

Canary, 127. 

Canon, Arkansas River, 43, 117. 

Cheyenne, 109, 170. 

Clear Creek, 184, 187, 197. 

Eagle River, 117, 125. 

Engleman's, 40. 

Grand River, 44, 125. 

South Platte, 206, 259, 278-282, 293. 
Catbird, 31, 36, 121, 133, 189. 
Chat, yellow-breasted, 186. 

long-tailed, 186. 
Chatterers, 302. 

349 



350 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Cheyenne Mountain, 91. 

Che wink, 36. 

Chickadee, black-capped, 66, 67, 76, 119. 

mountain, 66, 67, 73, 76, 77, 119, 212, 231, 235, 254, -26-2. 
Colorado Springs, 38, 42, 50, 68, 83, 89, 90, 117, 121, 155, 157, 160, 

177, 178, 183, 187, 193, 210, 279. 
Cooke, Wells W., 24, 51, 67, 76, 134, 184, 261. 
Coot, American, 145, 146. 
Cottonwood Lake, 112, 146, 162. 
Coues, Dr. Elliott, 24, 76, 302, 303. 
Cowbird, 271. 
Coyote, 99, 100. 
Crane, 146. 

Crossbill, Mexican, 262, 263. 
Crow, 25. 

Denver, 26, 159, 177, 178, 179, 181, 183, 187, 193, 241, 263, 2S2, 289, 

292. 
Dickcissel, 36. 

Dipper (see water-ousel), 163-174, 209, 210. 
Dove, turtle, 43, 44, 97, 122, 126, 129, 186. 
Ducks, 72, 143, 146. 
ruddy, 143-145. 

East and West, birds of, compared, 19, 21, 23-27, 31-40, 43, 44, 
54, 55, 62, 67, 69, 76, 90-95, 106, 119, 121, 125, 129-131 
133-136, 149-159, 186, 191-193, 198, 205, 215, 266, 270, 272, 
286, 287. 

Flicker, red-shafted, 25, 55, 73, 119, 126, 213, 231, 254, 262, 298. 

yellow-shafted, 25, 55. 
Flycatchers, 25, 151. 

Arkansas, 95-97, 99. 

crested, 95. 

least, 214. 

olive-sided, 73, 261. 

western, 209, 215, 218. 

Georgetown, 193, 197-219, 224, 238. 

Glenwood, 38, 40, 109, 120-125, 129, 158, 183, 271. 



INDEX 351 

Golden, 16-2, 184, 193, 296, 298. 

Goldfinch, American, 33, 121, 202, 203, 290. 

Arkansas, 32, 33, 121, 133, 290. 
Grackle, bronzed, 25, 140, 271, 272. 

purple, 25, 140. 
Grassfinch, eastern, 99, 129. 

western, 92, 99, 121, 129, 186, 192. 
Graymont, 183, 230, 232. 
Gray's Peak, 28, 178, 190, 193, 206, 224-256, 260, 261, 262, 270, 298. 

ascent of, 241-243. 

summit, 243-251. 
Green Lake, 208-214. 
Grosbeak, 25, 298, 299. 

black-headed, 39, 290. 

cardinal, 39, 127. 

rose-breasted, 39. 

western blue, 39, 157. 

Halfway House, 47, 74, 75, 76. 

Harrier, marsh, 99. 

Herbert, George, 59. 

Hawk, pigeon, 214. 

House-finch, 119, 127, 133, 181-183, 217. 

Humming-bird, 25. 

broad-tailed, 73, 103-109, 112-114, 200, 209, 213, 217, 230, 260. 

ruby-throated, 106. 

rufous, 113. 

Ixdigo-bird, 25, 154, 155, 178. 

Jack-rabbit, 99. 

Jay, blue, 24, 25, 26, 27, 149, 151, 153. 

long-crested, 25, 119, 133, 149-151, 154, 189, 230, 260, 279-281. 

mountain, 71, 119, 151-154, 205, 210, 233, 234, 261. 

Woodhouse's, 154. 
Junco, slate-colored, 75. 

gray-headed, 67, 74, 75, 119, 209, 212, 231, 235, 254, 255, 259, 
261. 



352 BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Kelso, Mount, 232, 233, 238, 253, 254, 262. 

Killdeer, 205, 270. 

King-bird, 97. 

Kingfisher, 119, 282. 

Kinglet, ruby-crowned, 64-66, 72, 119, 211, 216, 235, 254, 261. 

Lark, desert horned, 49, 84-89, 186, 264, 268-270. 

horned, 85. 

pallid horned, 86. 

prairie horned, 86. 
Leadville, 38, 126, 127, 183, 202, 271. 
Leucosticte, brown-capped, 22, 27, 59, 60, 125, 240, 241, 244, 248, 

251, 252, 254, 262. 
Lowell, James Russell, 59, 289. 

Magpie, 25, 40-43, 72, 119, 122, 133, 188, 270. 
Manitou, 31, 32, 36, 38, 47, 75, 76, 79, 140, 178. 
Martin, purple, 90. 
Meadow-lark, eastern, 26, 90-95. 

western, 22, 26, 90-95, 133, 160, 186, 187, 192, 264, 267, 290. 
Merriam, Dr. C. Hart, 113. 

Migration, 19-23, 51, 52, 63, 65, 66, 124, 277, 278. 
Mocking-bird, 98, 301, 302. 
Moraine Lake, 61, 66-73, 146. 
Muir, John, 172, 173. 

Nighthawk, eastern, 191. 

western, 24, 119, 129, 190, 191, 262. 
Nutcracker (also crow) Clark's, 25, 67, 71, 72, 119, 122. 
Nuthatch, pygmy, 119, 174, 279. 

white-breasted, 119. 

Ohio, 21, 65, 141, 215. 
Oriole, 25. 

Baltimore, 33-35. 

Bullock's 33-35, 97, 121, 192, 290. 

orchard, 34. 
Owl, burrowing, 178-180. 

Phcebe, 125. 

Say's, 125, 131, 270, 271. 



IXDEX 353 

Pike's Peak, 21, 26, 31, 38, 66, 71, 73, 83, 103, 104, 110, 129, 134, 
146, 152, 159, 234, 239, 250, 252, 262, 281. 

ascent of, 47, 56-58. 

descent of, 49-56, 58-79. 

summit, 47-4-9, 58, 59, 60. 
Pipit, American, 27, 49-52, 125, 239, 244, 254, 262. 
Ptarmigan, white-tailed, 60, 248. 
Pueblo, 117, 183. 

R a vex, 25, 53, 125. 

Red Cliff, 38, 40, 109, 117, 120, 183. 

Redstart, 184. 

Rexford, EbenE., 192. 

Ridgway, Robert, 24, 94, 136, 285, 303. 

Roberts, Charles G. D., 69. 

Robin, eastern, 32, 73, 95, 127, 205, 206. 

western, 22, 24, 31, 32, 55, 68, 70, 72, 73, 106, 121, 127, 129, 
151, 192, 199, 200, 205-207, 210, 216, 231, 253, 270, 290. 
Royal Gorge, 43, 117, 122. 

Saxdpiper, spotted, 51, 73, 163, 204, 271. 
Sapsucker, red-naped, 211, 212. 

Williamson's, 75-79, 160, 161. 
Seton, Ernest Thompson, 194, 229, 272. 
Seven Lakes, 55, 61, 70, 71, 72, 104, 146. 
Shrike, white-rumped, 98. 
Silver Plume, 183, 207, 216, 224, 226. 
Siskin, pine, 128, 200, 202, 203, 210, 216, 231, 261. 
Skylark, European, 87. 

Solitaire, Townsend's, 261, 270, 290, 298-303. 
South Park, 131, 206, 250, 259, 263-278. 
Sparrow, 25. 

Brewer's, 186. 

chipping, western, 24, 130, 215, 216, 259. 

clay-colored, 128, 203. 

English, 127, 181-183. 

lark, western, 24, 192. 

Lincoln's, 70, 71, 73, 99, 106, 134, 187, 200, 278. 

mountain song, 126, 133-135, 193, 278, 290. 
23 



354, BIRDS OF THE ROCKIES 

Sparrow, savanna, western, 264, 266, 267, 274-276. 
song, 92, 126, 133-135, 193, 288. 

white-crowned, 21, 22, 52-55, 60, 61, 68, 72-74, 103, 126, 129, 
200, 204, 213, 214, 231, 238, 239, 244, 253, 255, 256, 259, 
261, 281, 282." 
Swallows, 131. 
barn, 279. 

cliff, 99, 118, 213, 263, 266. 
violet-green, 207, 208, 259, 279. 

Tabb, John B., 192. 
Tanager, 25, 151. 

Louisiana, 39, 40, 119, 279. 

scarlet, 39, 40. 

summer, 39. 
Thompson, Maurice, 35. 
Thrasher, brown, 37, 302. 
Thrush, 37, 302. 

hermit, 69. 

mountain hermit, 38, 68-70, 72, 73, 204, 210, 212, 215, 218, 219, 
231, 235, 236, 262. 

veery, 135, 136. 

willow, 135, 136, 200, 230. 

wood, 69. 
Tillie Ann, Mount, 260-262. 

Torrey's Peak, 232, 237, 239, 241, 244, 245, 250, 256. 
Towhee, 36, 37. 

green-tailed, 37-39, 62, 72, 98, 126, 130, 133, 185, 191, 200, 
203, 204, 210, 218, 259, 278, 292-295. 

spurred, 36, 37, 185, 189, 191, 200, 204, 290. 

VlREO, 151. 

warbling, 31, 73, 118, 198, 199, 209, 215, 218, 230, 26-2. 

Warbler, Audubon's, 62-64, 68, 70, 126, 159, 200, 204, 208, 215, 
216, 231, 235, 237, 238, 259. 
Macgillivray's, 200, 205, 209. 
mountain, 157. 
myrtle, 62, 159. 



INDEX 355 

Warbler, pileolated, 63. 

summer, 31, 119, 133, 157, 158, 192; 290. 

Wilson's, 63, 64, 70, 72, 126, 200, 204, 213, 214, 231, 238, 244. 
Water-ousel (see dipper), 163-174, 185, 209, 210. 
Woodpeckers, 24, 75, 160, 211, 262. 

Batchelder's, 67, 72. 

downy, 67. 

Lewis's, 160-162, 190. 

red-headed, 162. 
Wood-pewee, eastern, 32. 

western, 32, 119, 121, 132, 192, 261. 
Wren, Bewick's, 297. 

Carolina, 64, 297. 

rock, 185, 186, 189, 191, 296-298. 

western house, 73, 106, 117, 118, 217, 230, 278, 279. 

Yellow-throat, western, 193, 290. 



PRINTED FOR A. C. McCLURG & CO. BY 
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, JOHN WILSON 
& SON (INC) CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



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